Trees and plants always look like the people they live with, somehow.

Gods always behave like the people who make them.

From barren brown stems to glistening leaf-buds; from the leaf-buds to snowy virginity of bloom…It was like a flute song forgotten in another existence and remembered again. What? How? Why? This singing she heard that had nothing to do with her ears. The rose of the world was breathing out smell. It followed her through all her waking moments and caressed her in her sleep.

It's a funny thing, the less people have to live for, the less nerve they have to risk losing nothing.

It seems to me that trying to live without friends is like milking a bear to get cream for your coffee. It is a whole lot of trouble, and then not worth much after you get it.

It seems to me that trying to live without friends is like milking a bear to get cream for your morning coffee. It is a whole lot of trouble, and then not worth much after you get it.