“Why the Egyptian, Arabic, Abyssinian, Choctaw? Well, what tongue does the wind talk? What nationality is a storm? What country do rains come from? What color is lightning? Where does thunder goe wh...”

“No," said a voice, "the only thing wrong on a night like that is that there is a world and you must come back to it.”

“We have everything we need to be happy, but we aren't happy. Something's missing.”

“We are living in a time when flowers are trying to live on flowers, instead of on good rain and black loam.”

“We haven't been too bad, have we?""No, nor enormously good. I suppose that's the trouble - we haven't been much of anything except us, while a big part of the world was busy being lots of awful thi...”

“Learning to let go should be learned before learning to get. Life should be touched, not strangled. Youve got to relax, let it happen at times, and at others move forward with it.”

“No sound, once made, is ever truly lost. In electric clouds, all are safely trapped, and with a touch, if we find them, we can recapture those echoes of sad, forgotten wars, long summers, and sweet...”

“How sweet the morning air is! See how that one little cloud floats like a pink feather from some gigantic flamingo. Now the red rim of the sun pushes itself over the London cloud-bank. It shines on...”

“Some call me nature, others call me Mother Nature. ... How you choose to live each day, whether you regard me or disregard me, doesn't really matter to me. One way or other, your actions will deter...”

“The color has faded out of the sky. It is grey, becoming darker as the world turns herself round a little more. The clouds are long and black and ragged, like the wings of stormbattered dragons.”

“When you hear the echoes of my mind, you'll know that I wasn't listening to what you said.”

“No one in this world is in a position to interfere with you. Therefore, do not find fault with the world; the fault is only yours. These are the echoes of interferences that you had caused. Had you...”

“It is as if the Caru'ee were able to perceive an echo of the past, and unconsciously, as they built upon a palimpsest of books written long ago and long forgotten, chanced to stumble upon an essenc...”