Un infini de passion peut tenir dans une minute.

I did not want to think about people. I wanted the trees, the scents and colors, the shifting shadows of the wood, which spoke language I understood. I wished I could simply disappear in it, live like a bird or a fox through the winter, and leave the things I had glimpsed to resolve themselves without me.

Even a heart that's been buoyant for a while could get threatened with the feeling of getting descended.

If your mind is truly, profoundly stuck, then you may be much better off than when it was loaded with ideas.

Written By Robert M. Pirsig

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