To love you was pleasant enough. And, oh! 'tis delicious to hate you!

When Time who steals our years away Shall steal our pleasures too, The mem'ry of the past will stay, And half our joys renew.

There is no way to re-enchant our lives in a disenchanted culture except by becoming renegades from that culture and planting the seeds for a new one.

A few moments of silence may be all the meditation we need at times. Our homes could have a little space for withdrawal and quiet, and even a small garden could offer some distance from noise.

The garden reconciles human art and wild nature, hard work and deep pleasure, spiritual practice and the material world. It is a magical place because it is not divided. The many divisions and polarizations that terrorize a disenchanted world find peaceful accord among mossy rock walls, rough stone paths, and trimmed bushes. Maybe a garden sometimes seems fragile, for all its earth and labor, because it achieves such an extraordinary delicate balance of nature and human life, naturalness and artificiality. It has its own liminality, its point of balance between great extremes.

To love you was pleasant enough. And, oh! 'tis delicious to hate you!

Peace to each manly soul that sleepeth; Rest to each faithful eye that weepeth.