Too many people, too many demands, too much to do; competent, busy, hurrying people - It just isn't living at all.

Lost time is like a run in a stocking. It always gets worse.

One must go through periods of numbness that are harder to bear than grief.

Rivers perhaps are the only physical features of the world that are at their best from the air.

I find there is a quality to being alone that is incredibly precious. Life rushes back into the void, richer, more vivid, fuller than before.

Love is a force.... It is not a result; it is a cause. It is not a product; it produces.

Splutter, splutter. Yes - we're off - we're rising. But why start off with an engine like that? But it smooths out now, like a long sigh, like a person breathing easily, freely. Like someone singing ecstatically, climbing, soaring - sustained note of power and joy. We turn from the lights of the city; we pivot on a dark wing; we roar over the earth. The plane seems exultant now, even arrogant. We did it, we did it!