Silence is not our heritage but our destiny; we live where we want to live.

I cannot cause light; the most I can do is try to put myself in the path of its beam.

She read books as one would breathe air, to fill up and live.

The mind itself is an art object ... The mind is a blue guitar on which we improvise the song of the world.

If even rock was interesting, if even this ugliness was worth whole shelves at the library, required sophisticated tools to study, and inspired grown men to crack mountains and saw crystals--then what wasn't?

Nothing on earth is more gladdening than knowing we must roll up our sleeves and move back the boundaries of the humanly possible once more.

Hone and spread your spirit till you yourself are a sail, whetted, translucent, broadside to the merest puff.