Over every mountain there is a path, although it may not be seen from the valley.
Art is the means we have of undoing the damage of haste. It’s what everything else isn’t.
How terrible the need for God.
What is madness but nobility of soul at odds with circumstance?
I have gone into the waste lonely places
I have come to a still, but not a deep center,
A point outside the glittering current;
My eyes stare at the bottom of a river,
At the irregular stones, iridescent sandgrains,
My mind moves in more than one place,
In a country half-land, half-water.
I am renewed by death, thought of my death,
The dry scent of a dying garden in September,
The wind fanning the ash of a low fire.
What I love is near at hand,
Always, in earth and air.
Reason? That dreary shed, that hutch for grubby schoolboys.
I learned not to fear infinity, The far field, the windy cliffs of forever, The dying of time in the white light of tomorrow, The wheel turning away from itself, The sprawl of the wave, The on-coming water.
In the kingdom of bang and blab.
Be sure that whatever you are is you.
– Theodore Roethke