I have a feeling that wherever I may be in the future, I will be wondering whether there is rain at Ngong.

I beg of you, you good people who want to hear stories told: look at this page and recognize the wisdom of my grandmother and of all old story-telling women!

I start with a tingle, a kind of feeling of the story I will write. Then come the characters, and they take over, they make the story.

our longing is our pledge, and blessed are the homesick, for they shall come home.

The air was cold to the lungs, the long grass dripping wet, and the herbs on it gave out their spiced astringent scent. In a little while on all sides the Cicada would begin to sing. The grass was me , and the air, the distant invisible mountains were me, the tired oxen were me. I breathed with the slight night-wind in the thorn trees.

Humanity has made a great error in seizing on a certain moment, no more intrinsically notable than any other moment and has called it Birth. The habit of honoring one single instant of the universal process to the disadvantage of other instants has done more, perhaps, than anything to obfuscate the crystal clearness of the fundamental flux.

Coffee, according to the women of Denmark, is to the body what the Word of the Lord is to the soul.