What our eyes behold may well be the text of life but one's meditations on the text and the disclosures of these meditations are no less a part of the structure of reality.

I still feel the need of some imperishable bliss.

We must endure our thoughts all night, until the bright obvious stands motionless in the cold.

The house was quiet and the world was calm. The reader became the book.

Thought tends to collect in pools.

I was the world in which I walked.

Life is the elimination of what is dead.