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

There comes a moment when the things one has written, even a traveler's memories, stand up and demand a justification. They require an explanation. They query, 'Who am I? What is my name? Why am I here?

Failures aren't failures if you learn something from them.

I have been overcome by the beauty and richness of our life together, those early mornings setting out, those evenings gleaming with rivers and lakes below us, still holding the last light.

the final lesson of learning to be independent - widowhood ... is the hardest lesson of all.

It isn't for the moment you are struck that you need courage, but for that long uphill climb back to sanity and faith and security.

Is there anything as horrible as starting on a trip? Once you're off, that's all right, but the last moments are earthquake and convulsion, and the feeling that you are a snail being pulled off your rock.