The most exhausting thing you can do is to be inauthentic.

The punctuation of anniversaries is terrible, like the closing of doors, one after another between you and what you want to hold on to.

What a circus act we women perform every day of our lives. Look at us. We run a tightrope daily, balancing a pile of books on the head. Baby-carriage, parasol, kitchen chair, still under control. Steady now! This is not the life of simplicity but the life of multiplicity that the wise men warn us of.

When one is a stranger to oneself, then one is estranged from others, too. If one is out of touch with oneself, then one cannot touch others. Only when one is connected to one's own core, is one connected to others. And for me, the core, the inner spring, can best be re-found through silence.

Only with winter-patience can we bring the deep-desired, long-awaited Spring.

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

And if flying, like a glass-bottomed bucket, can give you that vision, that seeing eye, which peers down on the still world below the choppy waves - it will always remain magic.