keep fresh before me the moments of my high resolve.

The years, the months, the days, and the hours have flown by my open window. Here and there an incident, a towering moment, a naked memory, an etched countenance, a whisper in the dark, a golden glow these and much more are the woven fabric of the time I have lived.

There must be always remaining in every life, some place for the singing of angels, some place for that which in itself is breathless and beautiful.

In the stillness of the quiet, if we listen, we can hear the whisper of the heart giving strength to weakness, courage to fear, hope to despair.

There is something in every one of you that waits and listens for the sound of the genuine in yourself.

Ask yourself what makes you come alive.

To love is to make of one's heart a swinging door.