The closer you get to real matter, rock air fire and wood, boy, the more spiritual the world is.

I saw that my life was a vast glowing empty page and I could do anything I wanted.

It is possible for the human spirit to win after all.

I want a blaze of light to flame in me forever in a timeless, dear love of everything. And why should I pretend to want anything else?

Down on the lake rosy reflections of celestial vapor appeared, and I said, "God, I love you" and looked to the sky and really meant it. "I have fallen in love with you, God. Take care of us all, one way or the other." To the children and the innocent it's all the same.

And what does the rain say at night in a small town, what does the rain have to say? Who walks beneath dripping melancholy branches listening to the rain? Who is there in the rain’s million-needled blurring splash, listening to the grave music of the rain at night, September rain, September rain, so dark and soft? Who is there listening to steady level roaring rain all around, brooding and listening and waiting, in the rain-washed, rain-twinkled dark of night?

For the first time in my life the weather was not something that touched me, that caressed me, froze or sweated me, but became me.