Every day I see or hear something that more or less kills me with delight, that leaves me like a needle in the haystack of light.
If you have ever gone into the woods with me, I must love you very much.
I want to believe I am looking into the white fire of a great mystery.
The face of the moose is as sad as the face of Jesus.
I saw that worrying had come to nothing and gave it up. And took my old body and went out into the morning, and sang.
Who do you want to be in your one wild and precious life?