You find yourself in the world, without any power, immovable as a rock, stupid, so to speak, as a log of wood.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
Sometimes it's best to speak from ignorance: that way, you can see the wood without being distracted by the trees.
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.
A stair not worn hollow by footsteps is, regarded from its own point of view, only a boring something made of wood.
In the middle of the journey of our life I came to myself within a dark wood where the straight way was lost.
Here we stand in the middle of this new world with our primitive brain, attuned to the simple cave life, with terrific forces at our disposal, which we are clever enough to release, but whose consequences we cannot comprehend.
On pavements and the bark of trees I have found whole worlds.
I'm fascinated by the narrative of geology, and I'm a veritable pack rat of a collector on the road. I keep a rock hammer in my car.
I do have a side of me that would just love to be stuck in the woods and have to stick it out and be really resourceful.
The woods were a boon; all too often, the forest offered danger and mystery. Yet it could be liberating. If you entered that wild place on its own terms, you might be accorded wisdom.
In some mysterious way woods have never seemed to me to be static things. In physical terms, I move through them; yet in metaphysical ones, they seem to move through me.