we are all given the ingredients of happiness, but the mixing is left to ourselves.

People have a way of thinking that everything is finished when the very best of all may yet be in store.

there was not a tree on the place, only the horrible prickly pear bushes thrusting out their distorted arms as if exulting in their own nakedness.

If you didn't sit with your head in the clouds so perpetually you wouldn't get so many shocks.

What the world, social and political, concrete and mental, really needs is not new things, but the old things made new.

Promises were made for people who do not trust each other.

Death is the opening-and the closing-of a Door.