Being, not doing, is my first joy.

A too explicit elucidation in education destroys much of the pleasure of learning. There should be room for sly hinters, masters of suggestion.

Art is the means we have of undoing the damage of haste. It's what everything else isn't.

I wish I could find an event that meant as much as simple seeing.

Nothing would give up life: Even the dirt keeps breathing a small breath.

I came where the river Ran over stones; My ears knew An early joy. And all the waters Of all the streams Sang in my veins That summer day.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?