The morning air of the pasture turned steadily cooler. Day by day, the bright golden leaves of the birches turned more spotted as the first winds of winter slipped between the withered branches and across the highlands toward the southeast. Stopping in the center of the pasture, I could hear the winds clearly. No turning back, they pronounced. The brief autumn was gone.

When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.

Be fearless, be brave, be bold, love yourself

What do I like about math? , When I've got figures in front of me, it relaxes me. Kind of like, everything fits where it belongs.

I would never see her again, except in memory. She was here, and now she's gone. There is no middle ground. Probably is a word that you may find south of the border. But never, ever west of the sun.

The honour of physical decline is waiting, and you have to get used to that reality.

I was feeling lonely without her, but the fact that I could feel lonely at all was consolation. Loneliness wasn't such a bad feeling. It was like the stillness of the pin oak after the little birds had flown off.