And sometimes when we listen, we are led into places we do not expect, into adventures we do not always understand.

The naked intellect is an extraordinarily inaccurate instrument.

You mean you're comparing our lives to a sonnet? A strict form, but freedom within it? Yes. Mrs. Whatsit said. You're given the form, but you have to write the sonnet yourself. What you say is completely up to you.

We think because we have words, not the other way around. The more words we have, the better able we are to think conceptually.

It does not matter that we cannot fathom this mystery. The only real problem comes when we think that we have.

Part of doing something is listening. We are listening. To the sun. To the stars. To the wind.

Humility is throwing oneself away in complete concentration on something or someone else.