I'm not against TV; I don't go on the morning talk shows because I'm not invited. If I was, I might go.

The breezes taste Of apple peel. The air is full Of smells to feel- Ripe fruit, old footballs, Burning brush, New books, erasers, Chalk, and such. The bee, his hive, Well-honeyed hum, And Mother cuts Chrysanthemums. Like plates washed clean With suds, the days Are polished with A morning haze.

Any activity becomes creative when the doer cares about doing it right or better.

Nothing seems to matter quite as much. I no longer think about death in the concentrated way I once did. I don't know? you get so old and you sort of give up in some way. You've had your period of angst, your period of religious desperation, and you've arrived at a philosophical position where you don't need, or you can't bear, to look at it.

Every marriage tends to consist of an aristocrat and a peasant. Of a teacher and a learner.

Without rain, there would be no life.

An affair wants to spill, to share its glory with the world. No act is so private it does not seek applause.