We tend to think things are new because we've just discovered them.

But where, after we have made the great decision to leave the security of childhood and move on into the vastness of maturity, does anybody ever feel completely at home?

I do not believe that true optimism can come about except through tragedy.

In our dreams we are able to fly . . . and that is a remembering of how we were meant to be.

When I am constantly running there is no time for being. When there is no time for being there is no time for listening.

But there is something about Time. The sun rises and sets. The stars swing slowly across the sky and fade. Clouds fill with rain and snow, empty themselves, and fill again. The moon is born, and dies, and is reborn. Around millions of clocks swing hour hands, and minute hands, and second hands. Around goes the continual circle of the notes of the scale. Around goes the circle of night and day, the circle of weeks forever revolving, and of months, and of years.

As far as I'm concerned, there is only one absolute: God is love.