A very preliminary something-or-other from the second book (as yet undetermined as too title)…

“Only in stillness can your inquest for answers be fruitful, much as the apple tree’s offerings can only ripen with food and drink and nature’s soft kiss.  Angry storms can take from it its hope for generations to come, and even its life, and so it is with your people and their constant noise and scurrying to and fro like busy rodents.  You rush through the seasons and fail to let them play at your feet.  How comes an understanding of time’s quest if you notice not its passing for your hurried squirming and wagging tongues?  What hope have you to share in our sagacity when you fail to listen to all but your own senseless gibbering?”

[. . .]

“What you do not see or hear are the whispers of the universe.  We spend countless centuries observing without interfering… or interrupting.  We sit upon eternal chairs, our eyes falling upon the world and piercing the cosmos, our ears hearing that which cannot be heard for its deafening silence, and our souls communing with all other souls—even yours, young one, and even your race, although they tarry not long enough to feel the bond but instead run about like ants.  Generations at least you have before your kind can know of the unknowable, that which my kind have always known and shared with those worthy.  You and yours are not ready for such intimate awareness.  You are children still, and children do not understand the importance of such things and would easily, and innocently in some cases, use it to do harm, or harm it directly.  It cannot be yours, but I can help you taste of the unfulfilled promise cast in shadows on your tomorrows.  Now, sit quietly and ponder no more.  Wet your mind’s lips at the fountain of my soul.”

[Update] Two things: This dialogue already changed.  This conversation will have taken place two or three centuries ago from our current perspective.