I dropped my hoe and ran into the house and started to write this poem, '.’ It began as a celebration of wild geese. Eventually the geese flew out of the poem, but I like to think they left behind the sound of their beating wings. Stanley Kunitz - End of Summer
How will you know the difficulties of being human, if you are always flying off to blue perfection? Where will you plant your grief seeds? Workers need ground to scrape and hoe, not the sky of unspecified desire. - Jalaluddin Rumi
Een doel, hoe nietig ook, verschafte het leven zin en betekenis. - Renate Dorrestein