"The light died in the low clouds. Falling snow drank in the dusk. Shrouded in silence, the branches wrapped me in their peace. When the boundaries were erased, once again the wonder: that I exist," Dag Hammarskjold, Markings, 1955. "Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring, Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish, Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?) Of eyes that vainly crave

Dag Hammarskjold, Markings 1950 The longest journey is the journey inwards; Of him who has chosen his destiny, Who has started upon his quest For the source of his being (Is there a source?). He is still with you, But without relation, Isolated in your feeling Like one condemned to death Or one whom imminent farewell Prematurely dedicates To the loneliness which is the final lot of all. Between you and him is distance, Uncertainly--- Care. He will see you withdrawing, Further