After all, I don't see why I am always asking for private, individual, selfish miracles when every year there are miracles like white dogwood.

The intellectual is constantly betrayed by his vanity. Godlike he blandly assumes that he can express everything in words; whereas the things one loves, lives, and dies for are not, in the last analysis completely expressible in words.

Woman must be the pioneer in this turning inward for strength. In a sense, she has always been the pioneer.

Flowers always have it - poise, completion, fulfillment, perfection . . .

Everything today has been heavy and brown. Bring me a Unicorn to ride about the town.

The most exhausting thing in life is being insincere.

The signs that presage growth, so similar, it seems to me, to those in early adolescence: discontent, restlessness, doubt, despair, longing, are interpreted falsely as signs of decay. In youth one does not as often misinterpret the signs; one accepts them, quite rightly, as growing pains. One takes them seriously, listens to them, follows where they lead. ... But in the middle age, because of the false assumption that it is a period of decline, one interprets these life-signs, paradoxically, as signs of approaching death.