What can we do about God, who makes and then breaks every god-forsaken, beautiful day?

Around me the trees stir in their leaves and call out, Stay awhile.

I believe in kindness. Also in mischief. Also in singing, especially when singing is not necessarily prescribed.

Joy is not made to be a crumb. (Don't Hesitate)

I have a notion that if you are going to be spiritually curious, you better not get cluttered up with too many material things.

I saw that worrying had come to nothing and gave it up. And took my old body and went out into the morning, and sang.

I love the line of Flaubert about observing things very intensely. I think our duty as writers begins not with our own feelings, but with the powers of observing.