In art we are once again able to do all the things we have forgotten; we are able to walk on water; we speak to the angels who call us; we move, unfettered, among the stars.

I would like to travel light on this journey of life, to get rid of the encumbrances I acquire each day. . . . The most difficult thing to let go is my self, that self which, coddled and cozened, becomes smaller as it becomes heavier. I don't understand how and why I come to be only as I lose myself, but I know from long experience that this is so.

I hope that I will never forget the salvific power of joyful laughter.

No matter how true I believe what I am writing to be, if the reader cannot also participate in that truth, then I have failed.

Time exists so that everything doesn't happen at once.

You mean you're comparing our lives to a sonnet? A strict form, but freedom within it? Yes. Mrs. Whatsit said. You're given the form, but you have to write the sonnet yourself. What you say is completely up to you.

Inspiration more often comes during the work than before it, because the largest part of the job of an artist is to listen to the work.