A day, a livelong day, is not one thing but many. It changes not only in growing light toward zenith and decline again, but in texture and mood, in tone and meaning, warped by a thousand factors of season, of heat or cold, of still or multi winds, torqued by odors, tastes, and the fabrics of ice or grass, of bud or leaf or black-drawn naked limbs. And as a day changes so do its subjects, bugs and birds, cates, dogs, butterflies and people.

I think there must have been some other girl printed somewhere in his heart, for he was a man of love and his wife was not a woman to show her feelings.

People don't want advice...only corroboration.

People need responsibility. They resist assuming it, but they cannot get along without it.

With a few exceptions people don't want money. They want luxury and they want love and they want admiration.

There's more beauty in the truth even if it is dreadful beauty.

Out of all this struggle a good thing is going to grow. That makes it worthwhile.