For some of us life is so fantastic we can't stand it.

How unfortunate it is to be constrained by what people might say at our funeral or on our gravestone.

One of the small consolations of old age, if you are lucky, can be at least a partial recovery of innocence.

How often have I tried just hard enough so that I can then say to myself that I tried with the real purpose of assuaging my guilt about something I did not wish to succeed in the first place?

Before I can accept someone's help, I must accept their presence.

To insist that I am not forgiven is a kind of inverse arrogance.

Until we can sense a sacred quality in time we will not begin to have a fuller understanding of it.