All through the long winter, I dream of my garden. On the first day of spring, I dig my fingers deep into the soft earth. I can feel its energy, and my spirits soar.

At 50, you need to laugh about your age. If you don't, everybody else will do it for you. Happy birthday, old chum!

There is only one terminal dignity - love.

We may be living in the twentieth century, in resplendent sophistication. But deep down, most of us find ourselves still in the Stone Age of superstition.

Yes, I have doubted. I have wandererd off the path. I have been lost. But I always returned. It is beyond the logic I seek. It is intuitive - an intrinsic, built-in sense of direction. I seem to find my way home. My faith has wavered but has saved me.

If you rest, you rust.

The truth is that there is only one terminal dignity - love. And the story of a love is not important - what is important is that one is capable of love. It is perhaps the only glimpse we are permitted of eternity.