Let me keep my mind on what matters, which is my work, which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished.

Come with me into the woods where spring is advancing, as it does, no matter what, not being singular or particular, but one of the forever gifts, and certainly visible.

My first two books are out of print and, okay, they can sleep there comfortably. It's early work, derivative work.

What can we do about God, who makes and then breaks every god-forsaken, beautiful day?

Sometimes I spend all day trying to count the leaves on a single tree... Of course I have to give up, but by then I'm half crazy with the wonder of it--the abundance of the leaves, the quietness of the branches, the hopelessness of my effort. And I am in that delicious and important place, roaring with laughter, full of earth-praise.

I took one look and fell, hook and tumble.

I don't ask for the sights in front of me to change, only the depth of my seeing.