When the wedding march sounds the resolute approach, the clock no longer ticks, it tolls the hour. The figures in the aisle are no longer individuals, they symbolize the human race.

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.

Perhaps I am a bear, or some hibernating animal underneath, for the instinct to be half asleep all winter is so strong in me.

We insist on permanency, on continuity, when the only continuity possible is in growth, in freedom, in the sense that the dancers are free, barely touching as they pass but partners in the same pattern. The only real security in a relationship lies neither in looking back in nostalgia, nor forward with dread or anticipation, but living in the present and accepting the relationship as it is now.

Good communication is just as stimulating as black coffee, and just as hard to sleep after.

Geniuses were like storms or cyclones, pulling everything into their path, sticks and stones and dust.

People talk about love as if it were something you could give, like an armful of flowers.