My father taught me that a bill is like a crying baby and has to be attended to at once.

Life is a gift, given in trust - like a child.

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?

Certain environments, certain modes of life, and certain rules of conduct are more conducive to inner and outer harmony than others. There are, in fact, certain roads that one may follow. Simplification is one of them.

Why is it that you can sometimes feel the reality of people more keenly through a letter than face to face?

life itself is always pulling you away from the understanding of life.

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