“It was the work of the quiet mountains, this torrent of purity at my feet.”
“Sometimes my feet are tired and my hands are quiet, but there is no quiet in my heart.”
“Swerve me? The path to my fixed purpose is laid with iron rails, whereon my soul is grooved to run. Over unsounded gorges, through the rifled hearts of mountains, under torrents' beds, unerringly I rush! Naught's an obstacle, naught's an angle to the iron way!”
“Walk away quietly in any direction and taste the freedom of the mountaineer.”
“His quiet certainty made the ground beneath my feet feel solid. Like someday everything might actually be okay.”
“Will you come with me to the mountains? It will hurt at first, until your feet are hardened. Reality is harsh to the feet of shadows. But will you come?”