The work of the artist is to heal the soul.

Nature is the common, universal language, understood by all.

... the poem reminds us of what we ourselves know, but did not know we knew; reminds us, above all, of what we are.

I couldn't claim that I have never felt the urge to explore evil, but when you descend into hell you have to be very careful.

O never harm the dreaming world, the world of green, the world of leaves, but let its million palms unfold the adoration of the trees It is a love in darkness wrought obedient to the unseen sun, longer than memory, a thought deeper than the graves of time. The turning spindles of the cells weave a slow forest over space, the dance of love, creation, out of time moves not a leaf, and out of summer, not a shade.

Meanings, moods, the whole scale of our inner experience, finds in nature the 'correspondences' through which we may know our boundless selves.

Sensing us, the trees tremble in their sleep, The living leaves recoil before our fires, Baring to us war-charred and broken branches, And seeing theirs, we for our own destruction weep.