Success produces success, just as money produces money.

Nature neither gives nor expects mercy.

Much of life becomes background, but it is the province of art to throw buckets of light into the shadows and make life new again.

Violets smell like burnt sugar cubes that have been dipped in lemon and velvet.

There's no place you can go on the prairie that you don't hear the white noise of the wind, steady and rough as surf curling along a non-existant shore.

A life like an intricately woven basket, frayed, worn, broken, unraveled, reworked, reknit from many of its original pieces... Life can survive in the constant shadow of illness, and even rise to moments of rampant joy, but the shadow remains, and one has to make space for it.

It's animal by animal that you save a species.