Big Sur monk cell

When I actually see things I'm looking at I feel alive and see how much of what I call the world is living without me.

Like birds, especially little ones that fly in and out of the fig tree in the morning.

The definition of a perfect day: gray whales just off the shoreline, going south.

O the horror! Of going toward what I know.

It's a good thing to get out of thinking about literature all the time.

If you can just wait long enough you'll have everything to yourself.

Howard and Toddie's house in Big Sur burned to the ground Monday, but no one was injured.

From now on I'll approach everything in the future as if I may not see it, touch it, or experience it ever again.

All this is very important because it is important: Gertrude Stein, p. 90, Lectures in America.

I put some breadcrumbs outside along the top of the fence, hoping some birds will stop by to see me.

The jays are beautiful, but loud and stupid.