“All things become islands before my senses, which accept them as a matter of course: a murmur
“All things become islands before my senses, which accept them as a matter of course: a murmur of silence. All things in this darkness—I can know all of them, just as I know that blood flows in my veins. The plain is a great flowing of water through plants, a supper of all things. Each plant, and each stone, lives motionlessly. I hear my food feeding my veins with each living thing that this plain provides.” —From Passion for Solitude (Mania di solitudine) -- source link