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I like to think of thoughts as living blossoms borne by the human tree.

I bury things in the back of my mind I don't really want to deal with.

I spend a lot of time doing carpentry. Sometimes there is nothing that gives me the contentment that sawing a piece of wood does.

I never think of myself as lumbering, but I guess I am. I forget how huge I am sometimes. I've seen movies where I'm with a group of people, and I'm like, 'God, I'm just so gargantuanly bigger than anyone else there.'

Each of us is carving a stone, erecting a column, or cutting a piece of stained glass in the construction of something much bigger than ourselves.

Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me?

I like trees because they seem more resigned to the way they have to live than other things do.

I was in my yard and thought that the tree was a living being. We take trees for granted. We don't believe they are as much alive as we are.

But I am a blasted tree; the bolt has entered my soul; and I felt then that I should survive to exhibit what I shall soon cease to be - a miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity, pitiable to others and intolerable to myself.