There is a proper balance between not asking enough of oneself and asking or expecting too much.

At some point I believe one has to stop holding back for fear of alienating some imaginary reader or real relative or friend, and come out with personal truth.

One of the good elements of old age is that we no longer have to prove anything, to ourselves or to anyone else. We are what we are.

It is dark now. The snow is deep blue and the ocean nearly black. It is time for some music.

Gardening is the instrument of grace.

I suppose I have written novels to find out what I thought about something and poems to find out what I felt about something.

The hardest thing we are asked to do in this world is to remain aware of suffering, suffering about which we can do nothing.