Proteus

There is a thing confusedly formed, Born before heaven and earth. Silent and void It stands alone and does not change, Goes round and does not weary. It is capable of being the mother of the world, But I know not its name.

Turning back is how the way moves; Weakness is the means the way employs. The myriad creatures in the world are born from Something, and Something from Nothing.

Without stirring abroad One can know the whole world. Without looking out of the window One can see the way of heaven. The further one goes The less one knows.

Does it exist within the heart of a stone? Did I see it when I saw all things and then forget it?

We had strayed into some region where the frontiers of some unknown world lay close about us.

We have to find the door, daddy.

To see a world in a grain of sand...

I dreaded walking where there was no path And pressed with cautious tread the meadow swath.

With tranquility, the small goes and the great comes.