“With the passage of days in this godly isolation [desert], my heart grew calm. It seemed to fill with answers. I did not ask questions any more; I was certain. Everything - where we came from, where we are going, what our purpose is on earth - struck me as extremely sure and simple in this God-trodden isolation. Little by little my blood took on the godly rhythm. Matins, Divine Liturgy, vespers, psalmodies, the sun rising in the morning and setting in the evening, the constellations suspended like chandeliers each night over the monastery: all came and went, came and went in obedience to eternal laws, and drew the blood of man into the same placid rhythm. I saw the world as a tree, a gigantic poplar, and myself as a green leaf clinging to a branch with my slender stalk. When God's wind blew, I hopped and danced, together with the entire tree.”

“I said to the almond tree, 'Sister, speak to me of God.' And the almond tree blossomed.”

“When an almond tree became covered with blossoms in the heart of winter, all the trees around it began to jeer. 'What vanity,' they screamed, 'what insolence! Just think, it believes it can bring spring in this way!' The flowers of the almond tree blushed for shame. 'Forgive me, my sisters,' said the tree. 'I swear I did not want to blossom, but suddenly I felt a warm springtime breeze in my heart.”

“For I realize today that it is a mortal sin to violate the great laws of nature. We should not hurry, we should not be impatient, but we should confidently obey the eternal rhythm.”

“Look, one day I had gone to a little village. An old grandfather of ninety was busy planting an almond tree. ‘What, grandfather!’ I exclaimed. ‘Planting an almond tree?’ And he, bent as he was, turned around and said: ‘My son, I carry on as if I should never die.’ I replied: ‘And I carry on as if I was going to die any minute.’ Which of us was right, boss?”

“The truth is that we all are one, that all of us together create god, that god is not man's ancestor, but his descendant.”

“The people cast themselves down by the fuming boardswhile servants cut the roast, mixed jars of wine and water,and all the gods flew past like the night-breaths of spring.The chattering female flocks sat down by farther tables,their fresh prismatic garments gleaming in the moonas though a crowd of haughty peacocks played in moonlight.The queen’s throne softly spread with white furs of foxgaped desolate and bare, for Penelope felt ashamed to come before her guests after so much murder.Though all the guests were ravenous, they still refrained,turning their eyes upon their silent watchful lordtill he should spill wine in libation for the Immortals.The king then filled a brimming cup, stood up and raisedit high till in the moon the embossed adornments gleamed:Athena, dwarfed and slender, wrought in purest gold,pursued around the cup with double-pointed speardark lowering herds of angry gods and hairy demons;she smiled and the sad tenderness of her lean face,and her embittered fearless glance, seemed almost human.Star-eyed Odysseus raised Athena’s goblet highand greeted all, but spoke in a beclouded mood:“In all my wandering voyages and torturous strife,the earth, the seas, the winds fought me with frenzied rage;I was in danger often, both through joy and grief,of losing priceless goodness, man’s most worthy face.I raised my arms to the high heavens and cried for help,but on my head gods hurled their lightning bolts, and laughed.I then clasped Mother Earth, but she changed many shapes,and whether as earthquake, beast, or woman, rushed to eat me; then like a child I gave my hopes to the sea in trust,piled on my ship my stubbornness, my cares, my virtues,the poor remaining plunder of god-fighting man,and then set sail; but suddenly a wild storm burst,and when I raised my eyes, the sea was strewn with wreckage.As I swam on, alone between sea and sky,with but my crooked heart for dog and company,I heard my mind, upon the crumpling battlementsabout my head, yelling with flailing crimson spear.Earth, sea, and sky rushed backward; I remained alonewith a horned bow slung down my shoulder, shorn of godsand hopes, a free man standing in the wilderness.Old comrades, O young men, my island’s newest sprouts,I drink not to the gods but to man’s dauntless mind.”All shuddered, for the daring toast seemed sacrilege,and suddenly the hungry people shrank in spirit;They did not fully understand the impious wordsbut saw flames lick like red curls about his savage head.The smell of roast was overpowering, choice meats steamed,and his bold speech was soon forgotten in hunger’s pangs;all fell to eating ravenously till their brains reeled.Under his lowering eyebrows Odysseus watched them sharply:"This is my people, a mess of bellies and stinking breath!These are my own minds, hands, and thighs, my loins and necks!"He muttered in his thorny beard, held back his hungerfar from the feast and licked none of the steaming food.”