There the door is always open into the “holy” — growth, birth, death.
About loving, I have little to learn from the young.
We have to believe that every person counts, counts as a creative force that can move mountains.
“How does one grow up?” I asked a friend the other day. There was a slight pause; then she answered, “By thinking.”
gardening is a madness, a folly that does not go away with age. Quite the contrary.
They are commiting murder who merely live.