There's precious little comes of telling people what they don't want to hear.

God, what pathetic creatures had inherited the earth, to walk a little while with their eyes upon the stars and turn their gaze too soon upon the ground that held their feet!

The lush green of the fields became a rich gold that swayed sturdily under the wind and fell at last before the hands of the reapers.

By mid-morning a rain as fine as silk spills was weaving over the lake.

I don't see as it matters much how well you mean if it's harm you're doin'.

But one had to go back to the beginning of things, always. Trace the thread of life - find the knot - untangle it.

A sickness ... defines margins, crystallizes the shape of things.