Beauty cannot disguise nor music melt A pain undiagnosable but felt.

One can get just as much exultation in losing oneself in a little thing as in a big thing. It is nice to think how one can be recklessly lost in a daisy.

Forsythia is pure joy. There is not an ounce, not a glimmer of sadness or even knowledge in forsythia. Pure, undiluted, untouched joy.

For in our family an experience was not finished, not truly experienced, unless written down or shared with another.

Only love can be divided endlessly and still not diminish.

What a commentary on our civilization, when being alone is considered suspect; when one has to apologize for it, make excuses, hide the fact that one practices it—like a secret vice!

God may want you to be the answer to your own prayer.