To the outside world, of course, this job is a cinch: 9 to 3, five days a week, two months' summer vacation with pay, all legal holidays, prestige and respect. My mother, for example, has the pleasant notion that my day consists of nodding graciously to the rustle of starched curtsies and a chorus of respectful voices bidding me good morning.

And that's it; that's why I want to teach; that's the one and only compensation: to make a permanent difference in the life of a child.

I feel no different than I felt at 99, 98 or 97. Just because you live a long time, you get all this attention. Just because you survived? Of course, I survived a lot.

Love is the ultimate giving, an expression of one's best self.

Time collapses and expands like an erratic accordion.

Education is not a product: mark, diploma, job, money-in that order; it is a process, a never-ending one.

The preciousness of every moment is emphasized with every tick of the clock. Isn't it a magnificent day today?