Can you write a book and have children at the same time? Yes, if you're content to do it very very slowly.

The plane seems exultant now, even arrogant. We did it, we did it! We're up, above you. We were dependant on you just now, prisoners fawning on you for favors, for wind and light. But now, we are free. We are up! We are off! Like someone singing ecstatically, climbing, soaring- a sustained note of power and joy.

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.

It is the striving after perfection that makes one an artist. It is the sense that one is imperfect, unfulfilled, unfinished. One attempts by a superhuman effort to fill the gap, to leap over it, to finish it in another medium. And one creates a third and separate thing: 'Adventure rarely reaches its predetermined end. Columbus never reached China. But he discovered America.

One must lose one's life to find it.

It is terribly amusing how many different climates of feelings one can go through in one day.

For it is only framed in space that beauty blooms.