I felt quite at home, / As if it were mine sleeping lazily / In this house of fresh air.
Come out to view / the truth of flowers blooming / in poverty.
There is nothing you can see that is not a flower; there is nothing you can think that is not the moon.
Sitting quietly, doing nothing, Spring comes, and the grass grows, by itself.
Winter solitude- in a world of one colour the sound of the wind.
Plunge Deep enough in order to see something that is hidden and glimmering.