When we put words together - adjective with noun, noun with verb, verb with object - we start to talk to each other.

Mere literary talent is common; what is rare is endurance, the continuing desire to work hard at writing.

The pleasure we feel, reading a poem, is our assurance of its integrity.

To grow old is to lose everything. Aging, everybody knows it. Even when we are young, we glimpse it sometimes, and nod our heads when a grandfather dies. Then we row for years on the midsummer pond, ignorant and content.

Every now and then I meet someone certain of personal greatness. I want to pat this person on the shoulder and mutter comforting words: "Things will get better! You won't always feel so depressed! Cheer up!"

Baseball is fathers and sons. Football is brothers beating each other up in the backyard.

To grow old is to lose everything.