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“The hawk turned slowly and flexed his great wings to maintain his height. In this cold wind, he flew merely to see and to travel. Gone was the exhilaration of fast-rising summer air carrying him so high into the sky's blue vacuum that the pond became a silver speck and the great southern lake dazzled him with a glaring slash of reflected sun.”
― Watchers at the Pond
― Watchers at the Pond
“Meanwhile, the duck's body entered the funnel's black terminal cloud and joined an indescribably melange of dead and dying.”
― Watchers at the Pond
― Watchers at the Pond
“. . . an artist is about condensing ideas into time.”
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“It isn't the growth of a nation that creates a man. It isn't material expansion or monetary development. It comes from inside. When there is nothing there is infinite potential for something. Where there is darkness, light is there to fill it.”
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