Thinking of the stars night after night I begin to realize 'The stars are words' and all the innumerable worlds in the Milky Way are words, and so is this world too. And I realize that no matter where I am, whether in a little room full of thought, or in this endless universe of stars and mountains, it’s all in my mind.

But night would come and with it the mountain moon and the lake would be moon - laned and I'd go out and sit in the grass and meditate facing west, wishing there were a Personal God in all this impersonal matter.

If you tell a true story, you can't be wrong.

Ah, if I could realize, if I could forget myself and devote my meditations to the freeing, the awakening and the blessedness of all living creatures everywhere I'd realize what there is, is ecstasy.

You seek identity in the midst of indistinguishab le chaos, in sprawling nameless reality.

Genius gives birth, talent delivers. What Rembrandt or Van Gogh saw in the night can never be seen again.

If you dont [sic] say what you want, what's the sense of writing?