The Damage Of Teaching: The Constant Contact

All Finite Things Reveal Infinitude: The Mountain With Its Singular Bright Shade Like The Blue Shine On Freshly Frozen Snow, The After-light Upon Ice-burdened Pines; Odor Of Basswood Upon A Mountain Slope, A Scene Beloved Of Bees; Silence Of Water Above A Sunken Tree: The Pure Serene Of Memory Of One Man,- A Ripple Widening From A Single Stone Winding Around The Waters Of The World.

I Have Gone Into The Waste Lonely Places

The Visible Exhausts Me. I Am Dissolved In Shadow.

Being, Not Doing, Is My First Joy.

What We Need Is More People Who Specialize In The Impossible.