There is a door. It opens. Then it is closed. But a slip of light stays, like a scrap of unreadable paper left on the floor, or the one red leaf the snow releases in March
A tree lives on its roots. If you change the root, you change the tree. Culture lives in human beings. If you change the human heart the culture will… - Jane Hirshfield
A tree lives on its roots. If you change the root, you change the tree. Culture lives in human beings. If you change the human heart the culture will…
- Jane Hirshfield
Sam Hamill is a writer unabashedly taking his place within the community of literature and the community of all sentient beings-his fidelity is to th… - Jane Hirshfield
Sam Hamill is a writer unabashedly taking his place within the community of literature and the community of all sentient beings-his fidelity is to th…
Something looks back from the trees, and knows me for who I am. - Jane Hirshfield
Something looks back from the trees, and knows me for who I am.
At some point I realized that you don't get a full human life if you try to cut off one end of it, that you need to agree to the entire experience, t… - Jane Hirshfield
At some point I realized that you don't get a full human life if you try to cut off one end of it, that you need to agree to the entire experience, t…
This garden is no metaphor - more a task that swallows you into itself, earth using, as always, everything it can. - Jane Hirshfield
This garden is no metaphor - more a task that swallows you into itself, earth using, as always, everything it can.
How fragile we are, between the few good moments. - Jane Hirshfield
How fragile we are, between the few good moments.
Metaphors get under your skin by ghosting right past the logical mind. - Jane Hirshfield
Metaphors get under your skin by ghosting right past the logical mind.
Habit, laziness, and fear conspire to keep us comfortably within the familiar. - Jane Hirshfield
Habit, laziness, and fear conspire to keep us comfortably within the familiar.
How silently the heart pivots on its hinge. - Jane Hirshfield
How silently the heart pivots on its hinge.
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