- I sit on my balcony every evening at twilight because I want to become the twilight and with the twilight encompassing me it is a pleasure to wait for something that I already know will never occur.
- The soft blue light of the twilight, the blue hour in which the daily drama dissolves into the sense of my abiding presence on the balcony at twilight, a rendezvous with the radiance seeping into my being to that divine place within where all is radiance. Each twilight is perfect as it is for the radiance is there whether you see it or not.
- I do not write my appointments with the twilight in my calendar because somehow with the twilight it is always a surprise to find myself just where I am as if for the very first time. Will I ever turn my back on the twilight?
- It’s the twilight that matters not where I am at twilight and why should I go elsewhere when the twilight is here with me? The twilight is not a means of transportation. I do not intend to travel the world, experiencing the twilight in different locations.
- I am here, the birch tree directly in front, but it is not my intention to address an ode to the birch tree at twilight, except to say that the birch tree is where the birch tree always is. Dear birch tree, forgive me. You used to help me find peace of mind but how unimportant you seem now that I have discovered the twilight.
- “He always reminded me of the twilight, his radiance very much like the twilight. And now he is gone, gone like the twilight!” Who will eulogize me with these words?
- If I were in all innocence, for the twilight is innocence, if I were to ask where does darkness come from, please don’t bother to explain. Birds, halt your singing. You’re not needed at twilight.
- Alone, let me be always alone with the twilight. Not even my shadow keeps me company because no shadows at twilight, no shadows. Let me have what I have in speaking of the twilight for I am not so arrogant as to offer distinctions between one twilight and another.
- The door to the balcony moves a bit in the breeze at twilight. Doors don’t slam shut in the twilight breeze. The ringing of my telephone makes no sense as I experience the twilight.
- Twilight on the darkening roof of the house across the way and I don’t know who lives there. The rooftops, the rooftops at twilight! Why aren’t I more curious about the rooftops at twilight?
- At twilight I don’t ask myself where my life is heading nor do I try to remember where I’ve been. The birch tree looks a bit haggard, somehow neglected, though its branches sway gently in the twilight breeze.