Even now / I am not old. / I never think of it, and yet / I am a grandmother to eleven grandchildren.

A strange thing is memory, and hope; one looks backward, and the other forward; one is of today, the other of tomorrow. Memory is history recorded in our brain, memory is a painter, it paints pictures of the past and of the day.

I paint from the top down. From the sky, then the mountains, then the hills, then the houses, then the cattle, and then the people.

I have written my life in small sketches, a little today, a little yesterday, as I have thought of it, as I remember all the things from childhood on through the years, good ones and unpleasant ones, that is how they come out and that is how we have to take them.

If you know somethin' well, you can always paint it but people would be better off buyin' chickens.

Memory is a painter. Paintin's not important. The important thing is keepin' busy.

I look back on my life like a good day's work, it was done and I am satisfied with it.