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

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

These bright roofs, these steep towers, these jewel-lakes, these skeins of railroad line - all spoke to her and she answered. She was glad they were there. She belonged to them and they to her. . . . She had not lost it. She was touching it with her fingertips. This was flying: to go swiftly over the earth you loved, touching it lightly with your fingertips, holding the railroads lines in your hand to guide you, like a skein of wool in a spider-web game - like following Ariadne's thread through the Minotaur's maze, Where would it lead, where?

The nice thing about really intelligent people is that when you talk with them they make you feel intelligent too.

Duration is not a test of truth or falsehood.

Perhaps middle-age is, or should be, a period of shedding shells; the shell of ambition, the shell of material accumulations and possessions, the shell of the ego.

Certain springs are tapped only when you're alone.