I used to feel guilty about spending morning hours working on a book; about fleeing to the brook in the afternoon. It took several summers of being totally frazzled by September to make me realize that this was a false guilt. I'm much more use to family and friends when I'm not physically and spiritually depleted than when I spend my energies as though they were unlimited. They are not. The time at the typewriter and the time at the brook refresh me and put me into a more workable perspective.

We tend to defend vigorously things that in our deepest hearts we are not quite certain about. If we are certain of something we know, it doesn't need defending.

The growth of love is not a straight line, but a series of hills and valleys.

People are more than just the way they look.

Because we fail to listen to each other's stories, we are becoming a fragmented human race.

Be aware that rigidity imprisons.

Artistic temperament sometimes seems a battleground, a dark angel of destruction and a bright angel of creativity wrestling.