Maybe the desert wisdom of the Dakotas can teach us to love anyway, to love what is dying, in the face of death, and not pretend that things are other than they are. The irony and wonder of all of this is that it is the desert's grimness, its stillness and isolation, that brings us back to love.

Pay close attention to objects, events and natural phenomenon that would otherwise get chewed up in the daily grind.

I am learning to see loneliness as a seed that, when planted deep enough, can grow into writing that goes back out into the world.

Disconnecting from change does not recapture the past. It loses the future.

But hope has an astonishing resilience and strength. Its very persistence in our hearts indicates that it is not a tonic for wishful thinkers but the ground on which realists stand.

Just the knowledge that a good book is waiting one at the end of a long day makes that day happier.

When you are unhappy, is there anything more maddening than to be told that you should be contented with your lot?