For it is only framed in space that beauty blooms.

It's funny how you can be mad at someone one moment and want to hug them the next.

Arranging a bowl of flowers in the morning can give a sense of quiet in a crowded day - like writing a poem or saying a prayer.

I must write it all out, at any cost. Writing is thinking. It is more than living, for it is being conscious of living.

Nothing feeds the center of being so much as creative work. The curtain of mechanization has come down between the mind and the hand.

When you love someone you do not love them, all the time, in the exact same way, from moment to moment. It is an impossibility. It is a lie to pretend to. And yet this is exactly what most of us demand. We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationships.

People don't want to be understood - I mean not completely. It's too destructive. Then they haven't anything left. They don't want complete sympathy or complete understanding. They want to be treated carelessly and taken for granted lots of times.