January is my favorite month, when the light is plainest, least colored. And I like the feeling of beginnings.

Love ... is the honoring of others in a way that grants them the grace of their own autonomy and allows mutual discovery.

January is my favorite month, when the light is plainest, least colored. And I like the feeling of beginnings.

The art of being officially old seems to lie in cooperative submission.

Art comes into the highest part of the mind, that with which we can know the presence of God.

The end of parenthood is implicit in its beginning: separation.

I never decided at all to be an artist; being an artist seems to have happened to me.