When will you have a little pity for every soft thing that walks through the world, yourself included.

When I am alone I can become invisible. I can sit on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds, until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almost unhearable sound of the roses singing.

Maybe the world, without us, is the real poem.

Far off in the red mangroves an alligator has heaved himself onto a hummock of grass and lies there, studying his poems.

A fact: one picks it up and reads it, and puts it down, and there is an end to it. But an idea! That one may pick up, and reflect upon, and oppose, and expand, and so pass a delightful afternoon altogether.

You can have the other words-chance, luck, coincidence, serendipity. I'll take grace. I don't know what it is exactly, but I'll take it.

Things take the time they take. Don't worry.