We have to make myths of our lives, the point being that if we do, then every grief or inexplicable seizure by weather, woe, or work can-if we discipline ourselves and think hard enough-be turned to account, be made to yield further insight into what it is to be alive, to be a human being.

He [the cat] wound himself around her legs, purring the purr of ardent desire like a kettle coming to a boil and then bubbling very fast.

A garden is always a series of losses set against a few triumphs, like life itself.

Gardening is an instrument of grace.

Gardening gives one back a sense of proportion about everything - except itself.

Solitude is the salt of personhood. It brings out the authentic flavor of every experience.

I suppose real old age begins when one looks backward rather than forward