I try to be good but sometimes a person just has to break out and act like the wild and springy thing one used to be. It's impossible not to remember wild an want it back.

When it's over I don't want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

Isn’t it wonderful the way the world holds both the deeply serious, and the unexpectedly mirthful?

Always there is something worth saying about glory, about gratitude.

Every adjective and adverb is worth five cents. Every verb is worth fifty cents.

Do you cherish your humble and silky life?

And now I understand something so frightening &wonderful- how the mind clings to the road it knows, rushing through crossroads, sticking like lint to the familiar.