My Life cannot implement in action the demands of all the people to whom my heart responds.

Only when one is connected to one's own core is one connected to others, I am beginning to discover. And, for me, the core, the inner spring, can best be refound through solitude.

After all, I don't see why I am always asking for private, individual, selfish miracles when every year there are miracles like white dogwood.

Splutter, splutter. Yes - we're off - we're rising. But why start off with an engine like that? But it smooths out now, like a long sigh, like a person breathing easily, freely. Like someone singing ecstatically, climbing, soaring - sustained note of power and joy. We turn from the lights of the city; we pivot on a dark wing; we roar over the earth. The plane seems exultant now, even arrogant. We did it, we did it!

there is no aristocracy of grief. Grief is a great leveler.

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.

war is a thug's game. The thug strikes first and harder. He doesn't go by rules and he isn't afraid of hurting people.