I don't believe in God, but I do believe in His saints.

The visible world is a daily miracle for those who have eyes and ears; and I still warm hands thankfully at the old fire, though every year it is fed with the dry wood of more old memories.

What Lily craved was the darkness made by enfolding arms, the silence which is not solitude, but compassion holding its breath.

Silence may be as variously shaded as speech.

Beware of monotony; it's the mother of all the deadly sins.

Another unsettling element in modern art is that common symptom of immaturity, the dread of doing what has been done before.

Set wide the window. Let me drink the day.