“How does one grow up?” I asked a friend the other day. There was a slight pause; then she answered, “By thinking.”

Solitude is one thing and loneliness is another.

Miracles cannot be explained, that is their miraculous nature.

In the garden the door is always open into the "holy" - growth, birth, death. Every flower holds the whole mystery in its short cycle, and in the garden we are never far away from death, the fertilizing, good, creative death.

What is there to do when people die - people so dear and rare - but bring them back by remembering?

We have to dare to be ourselves, however frightening or strange that self may prove to be.

It's extraordinary how little two people can understand each other and how cruel two people who are fond of each other can be to each other - there is practically no cruelty so awful because their power to hurt is so great.