“I have lived at Cold MountainThese thirty long years.Yesterday I called on friends and family:More than half had gone to the Yellow Springs.Slowly consumed, like fire down a candle;Forever flowing, like a passing river.Now, morning, I face my lone shadow:Suddenly my eyes are bleared with tears.”

“Damn me not I make a better fool. And there is nothing vaster, more beautiful, remote, unthinking (eternal rose-red sunrise on the surf—great rectitude of rocks) than man, inhuman man, At whom I look for a thousand light years from a seat near Scorpio, amazed and touched by his concern and pity for my plight, a simple star, Then trading shapes again. My wife is gone, my girl is gone, my books are loaned, my clothes are worn, I gave away a car; and all that happened years ago. Mind & matter, love & space are frail as foam on beer.”

“I thought, that day I started,I sure would hate to do this all my life,And dammit, that’s just whatI’ve gone and done.”

“I’m sixty-eight” he said, “I first bucked hay when I was seventeen. I thought, that day I started, I sure would hate to do this all my life. And dammit, that’s just what I’ve gone and done.”

“In the mountains it's cold.Always been cold, not just this year.Jagged scarps forever snowed inWoods in the dark ravines spitting mist.Grass is still sprouting at the end of June,Leaves begin to fall in early August.And here I am, high on mountains,Peering and peering, but I can't even see the sky.”

“When men see Han-shanThey all say he's crazyAnd not much to look at -Dressed in rags and hides.They don't get what I sayAnd I don't talk their language.All I can say to those I meet:"Try and make it to Cold Mountain.”

“I thought I heard an axe chop in the woods It broke the dream; and woke up dreaming on a train. It must have been a thousand years ago In some old mountain sawmill of Japan. A horde of excess poets and unwed girls And I that night prowled Tokyo like a bear Tracking the human future Of intelligence and despair.”