I know I can walk through the world, along the shore or under the trees, with my mind filled with things of little importance, in full self-attendance. A condition I can't really call being alive.

Though I play at the edges of knowing, truly I know our part is not knowing, but looking, and touching, and loving

The sea can do craziness, it can do smooth, it can lie down like silk breathing or toss havoc shoreward; it can give gifts or withhold all; it can rise, ebb, froth like an incoming frenzy of fountains, or it can sweet-talk entirely. As I can too, and so, no doubt, can you, and you.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination.

Poetry isn't a profession, it's a way of life. It's an empty basket; you put your life into it and make something out of that.

There are a hundred paths through the world that are easier than loving. But who wants easier?

Things take the time they take. don't worry. How many roads did St. Augustine follow before he became St. Augustine?