All culture developed as some wild, raw creature strived to live better and longer.

It's morning, and again I am that lucky person who is in it.

I have a little dog who likes to nap with me. He climbs on my body and puts his face in my neck. He is sweeter than soap. He is more wonderful than a diamond necklace, which can't even bark.

Don't we all die someday and someday comes all too soon? What will you do with your own wild, glorious chance at this thing we call life.

Come with me into the woods where spring is advancing, as it does, no matter what, not being singular or particular, but one of the forever gifts, and certainly visible.

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.

Today again I am hardly myself. It happens over and over.