Whoever is not in his coffin and the dark grave, let him know he has enough.

Now I will do nothing but listen to accrue what I hear into this song. To let sounds contribute toward it. I hear the sound I love. The sound of the human voice. I hear all sounds running together.

The best writing has no lace on its sleeves.

The smallest sprout shows there is really no death.

Wisdom is not finally tested by the schools, Wisdom cannot be pass'd from one having it to another not having it, Wisdom is of the soul, is not susceptible of proof, is its own proof.

In the confusion we stay with each other, happy to be together, speaking without uttering a single word.

The question, O me! so sad, recurring - What good amid these, O me, O life? That you are here - that life exists and identity, that the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.