The silkworm spins out his life, and, wrapping himself in his labor, dies. – Phineas Parkhurst Quimby (1802-1866), “Religion in Disease,” 1865

Each forward step we take we leave some phantom of ourselves behind. – John Lancaster Spalding

A thing, until it is everything, is noise, and once it is everything it is silence. – Antonio Porchia, Voces, 1943, translated from Spanish by W.S. Merwin