There Are Fossils Of Seashells High In

There Are Infinite Shades Of Grey. Writing Often Appears So Black And White.

The Rhythm Of Walking Generates A Kind Of Rhythm Of Thinking, And The Passage Through A Landscape Echoes Or Stimulates The Passage Through A Series Of Thoughts. The Creates An Odd Consonance Between Internal And External Passage, One That Suggests That The Mind Is Also A Landscape Of Sorts And That Walking Is One Way To Traverse It. A New Thought Often Seems Like A Feature Of The Landscape That Was There All Along, As Though Thinking Were Traveling Rather Than Making.

To Be Hopeful Means To Be Uncertain About The Future, To Be Tender Toward Possibilities, To Be Dedicated To Change All The Way Down To The Bottom Of Your Heart.

[in Mountaineering, If] We Look For Private Experience Rather Than Public History, Even Getting To The Top Becomes An Optional Narrative Rather Than The Main Point, And Those Who Only Wander In High Places Become Part Of The Story.

Hope Is Not Like A Lottery Ticket You Can Sit On The Sofa And Clutch, Feeling Lucky.... Hope Is An Ax You Break Down Doors With In An Emergency.