For all things are less dreadful than they seem.

Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore of nicely-caluculated less or more.

How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.

A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free.

Me this uncharted freedom tires; I feel the weight of chance desires, My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same.

There is creation in the eye.

By all means sometimes be alone; salute thyself; see what thy soul doth wear; dare to look in thy chest; and tumble up and down what thou findest there.