The beginner hugs his infant poem to him and does not want it to grow up. But you may have to break your poem to remake it.

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.

Do we always make our freedom out of someone else's bondage?

I have never written a book that was not born out of a question I needed to answer for myself.

There is only one real deprivation... and that is not to be able to give one's gifts to those one loves most.

It is good for a professional to be reminded that his professionalism is only a husk, that the real person must remain an amateur, a lover of the work.

Old age is not an illness, it is a timeless ascent. As power diminishes, we grow toward the light.