The simple act of opening a bottle of wine has brought more happiness to the human race than all the collective governments in the history of earth
In a life properly lived, you're a river.
The danger of civilization, of course, is that you will piss away your life on nonsense.
Barring love I'll take my life in large doses alone--rivers, forests, fish, grouse, mountains. Dogs.
The wilderness does not make you forget your normal life so much as it removes the distractions for proper remembering.
Some people hear their own inner voices with great clearness and they live by what they hear. Such people become crazy, or they become legends.
Beware, O wanderer, the road is walking too.
Fishing makes us less the hostages to the horrors of making a living.
I'm hoping to be astonished tomorrow by I don't know what.
I did not want to live out my life in the strenuous effort to hold a ghost world together. It was plain as the stars that time herself moved in grand tidal sweeps rather than the tick-tocks we suffocate within, and that I must reshape myself to fully inhabit the earth rather than dawdle in the sump of my foibles.
I would rather give full vent to all human loves and disappointments, and take a chance on being corny, than die a smartass.
Death steals everything except our stories.
I remember my grandfather telling me how each of us must live with a full measure of loneliness that is inescapable, and we must not destroy ourselves with our passion to escape the aloneness.
Life is sentimental. Why should I be cold and hard about it? That's the main content. The biggest thing in people's lives is their loves and dreams and visions, you know.
We Are All One. When we allow ourselves to become aware of this statement in its purest form, we open the doors to reveal the oneness of being. Using the process of conscious evolution we begin to recognise our true underlying identity, for once we have glimpsed the existence of this realm, we then begin to reveal what it is . . . . our true natural state.
Poetry at its best is the language your soul would speak if you could teach your soul to speak.
The world that used to nurse us now keeps shouting inane instructions. That's why I ran to the woods.
It is utterly soothing to fly fish for trout. All other considerations or worries drift away and you couldn't keep them close if you wanted. Perhaps it's standing thigh deep in a river with the water passing at the exact but varying speed of life. You easily recognize this mortality and it dissipates into the landscape.
We set this house on fire forgetting that we live within.
Birthdays are ghost bounty hunters that track you down to ask, "Que pasa, baby?
We Americans are trained to think big, talk big, act big, love big, admire bigness but then the essential mystery is in the small.
I can maintain my sense of the sacredness of existence only by understanding my own limitations and losing my self-importance.
The answer is always in the entire story, not a piece of it.
I was a dog on a short chain / and now there's no chain.
You touch things lightly or deeply; you move along because life herself moves, and you can’t stop it.
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