... old clothes, old friends, old books. One needs constants in a traveling life.

... old clothes, old friends, old books. One needs constants in a traveling life.

my rebelliousness went so deep that, faced with a can of asparagus that instructed me to open at this end, I always, stubbornly, opened it at the other.

... people misunderstood death, they died not of too little life but of too much life, that as the skin withered and the future grew short it was the past that took on flesh, until ultimately the sheer accumulation of experience and memory became too heavy to carry.

It's when we're given choice that we sit with the gods and design ourselves.

Everything matters terribly to children, you know, they're fresh and unformed.

What continues to astonish me about a garden is that you can walk past it in a hurry, see something wrong, stop to set it right, and emerge an hour or two later breathless, contented, and wondering what on earth happened.