A body without bones would be a limp impossible mess, so a day without steady routine would be disruptive and chaotic.

The trouble is, old age is not interesting until one gets there. It's a foreign country with an unknown language to the young and even to the middle-aged.

It is curious how any making of order makes one feel mentally ordered, ordered inside.

Solitude is my element, and the reason is that extreme awareness of other people... precludes awareness of one's self so that after a while the self no longer knows that it exists.

For inside all the weakness of old age, the spirit, God knows, is as mercurial as it ever was.

Flowers and plants are silent presences. They nourish every sense except the ear.

It is only when we can believe that we are creating the soul that life has any meaning, but when we can believe it - and I do and always have - then there is nothing we do that is without meaning and nothing that we suffer that does not hold the seed of creation in it.