In the West we cling to the past like limpets. In Haiti the present is the axis of all life. As in Africa, past and future are but distant measures of the present, and memories are as meaningless as promises.

Its haunting to realize that half of the languages of the world are teetering on the brink of extinction.

Only, in Haiti, I realized, is it possible to drink rum and haggle with a god.

The surface of the Earth itself is an immense loom upon which the sun weaves the fabric of existence.

Language is an old-growth forest of the mind.

If diversity is a source of wonder, its opposite - the ubiquitous condensation to some blandly amorphous and singularly generic modern culture that takes for granted an impoverished environment - is a source of dismay. There is, indeed, a fire burning over the earth, taking with it plants and animals, cultures, languages, ancient skills and visionary wisdom. Quelling this flame, and re-inventing the poetry of diversity is perhaps the most important challenge of our times.

You know, once something freezes, it's solid. That's the key to the arctic - they didn't fear the cold, they made use of it.