... Any flower opening into a blossom seems to open my own eyes. Without my knowing so. Without the slightest intentional act by either party. By opening, the blossom opens something else that is much more than itself. When you sense this, it surprises you, gives you joy. Even if now, at times, you happen to tremble like a person who is afraid and who believes, or pretends to believe, that he doesn't know why.
Philippe Jaccottet, And, nonetheless: Selected Prose and Poetry 1990-2009