Old houses, I thought, do not belong to people ever, not really, people belong to them.
Long cold nights mark November's return, grey rains fall, wind walks in the bronze oak leaves.
I know of nothing to compare with the welcome a dog gives you when you come home.
As long as you have a window, life is exciting.
Cat lovers know that every cat is remarkable.
Well, any love makes us vulnerable. Whatever we love will give the gift of pain somewhere along the road. But who would live sealed in spiritual cellophane just to keep from ever being hurt? There are a few people like that. I'm sorry for them. I think they are as good as dead.