I believe in God, only I spell it Nature.
I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars.
All things are artificial, for nature is the art of God.
And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns.
And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.
All water has a perfect memory and is forever trying to get back to where it was.
Ah, summer, what power you have to make us suffer and like it.
All my life I have tried to pluck a thistle and plant a flower wherever the flower would grow in thought and mind.
Adapt or perish, now as ever, is nature's inexorable imperative.
A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.
