Grief is a hole you walk around in the daytime and at night you fall into it.

The world is not with us enough. O taste and see.

You can live for years next door to a big pine tree, honored to have so venerable a neighbor, even when it sheds needles all over your flowers or wakes you, dropping big cones onto your deck at still of night.

We must breathe time as fishes breathe water.

The artist must create himself or be born again.

You have come to the shore. There are no instructions.

Nothing we do has the quickness, the sureness, the deep intelligence living at peace would have.