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"Love many, trust few, always paddle your own canoe."
...he saw the flaming, restless nest of the fire a short distance away, and the silhouettes of people around it, and someone's hand adding a branch. The crickets leapt crepitating; from time to time there came a sweet whiff of burning juniper; and above the black alpestrine steppe, above the silken sea, the enormous, all-engulfing sky, dove grey with stars, made one's head spin, and suddenly Martin again experienced a feeling he had known on more than one occasion as a child: an unbearable intensification of the senses, a magical and demanding impulse, the presence of something for which it alone was worth living.