And what word is knowledge but a shadow of wordless knowledge?

But you who walk facing the sun, what images drawn on the earth can hold you?

Trees are poems the earth writes upon the sky, We fell them down and turn them into paper, That we may record our emptiness.

Your friend is your needs answered. He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving. And he is your board and your fireside. For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace.

I wash my hands of those who imagine chattering to be knowledge, silence to be ignorance, and affection to be art.

The lust for comfort, that stealthy thing that enters the house a guest, and then becomes a host, and then a master.

You shall be held down by the chains of your own judgment.