To the birds you gave songs, the birds gave you songs in return. You gave me only a voice, yet asked for more, thus I sing.

We can make a little order where we are, and then the big sweep of history on which we can have no effect doesn't overwhelm us. We do it with colors, with a garden, with the furnishings of a room, or with sounds and words. We make a little form, and we gain composure.

Once we dreamt that we were strangers. We wake up to find that we were dear to each other.

Oh, grant me my prayer, that I may never lose the touch of the one in the play of the many.

My debts are large, my failures great, my shame secret and heavy; yet I come to ask for my good, I quake in fear lest my prayer be granted.

By touching you may kill, by keeping away you may possess.