“Autumn clouds, vague and obscure; The evening, lonely and chill. I felt the dampness on my garments, But saw no spot, and heard no sound of rain.”

A little child paddles a little boat, Drifting about, and picking white lotuses. He does not know how to hide his tracks, And duckweed’s opened up along his path.

Two monks sit facing, playing chess on the mountain, The bamboo shadow on the board is dark and clear. Not a person sees the bamboo’s shadow, One sometimes hears the pieces being moved.

Fumes of wine shorten the long road.

I remember, when I was young, How easily my mood changed from sad to gay. … But now that age comes, A moment of joy is harder and harder to get.

A strip of water’s spread in the setting sun, Half the river’s emerald, half is red. I love the third night of the ninth month, The dew is like a pearl; the moon like a bow.

If the Fleeting World is but a long dream, it does not matter whether one is young or old.

I’ve always been serious that way, trying to evolve to a more conscious state. Funny thing about that,though. You tweak yourself,looking for more love, less lust, more compassion, less jealousy.

The only thing I would change is during the summer – when I was working my summer job, if I was smart, I would have taken flying lessons at Auburn.

You remember that my great vision came to me when I was only nine years old, and you have seen that I was not much good for anything until after I had performed the horse dance near the mouth of the Tongue River during my eighteenth summer.

Our life is like th’ unstable wave, Our bloom of youth decays. Our joys are brief as lightning flash In summer’s cloudy days, Our riches fleet as swift as thought; Faith in the One Supreme Alone will bear us o’er the gulfs Of Being’s stormy stream.

I was four years old then, and I think it must have been the next summer that I first heard the voices.

It’s a cruel season that makes you get ready for bed while it’s light out.

The prediction that glaciers will be gone from Glacier National Park has been moved up by 10 years to 2020, the same year it’s predicted the Arctic Sea will be ice-free in the summer.

A third of summer sea ice in the Arctic is gone, the oceans are 30 percent more acidic, and since warm air holds more water vapor than cold, the atmosphere over the oceans is a shocking five percent wetter, loading the dice for devastating floods.