I have woven a parachute out of everything broken.

You can treat experience as a set of surprises on which to exercise your quirky self.

'Be alive,' the land says, 'listen - this is your time, your world, your pleasure.'

Keep a journal, and don't assume that your work has to accomplish anything worthy: artists and peace-workers are in it for the long haul, and not to be judged by immediate results.

The signals we give-yes or no, or maybe-/should be clear/the darkness around us is deep.

All still when summer is over stand shocks in the field, nothing left to whisper, not even good-bye, to the wind. After summer was over we knew winter would come: we knew silence would wait, tall, patient calm.

People wander about what you are pursuing. You have to explain about the thread.