How unnatural the imposed view, imposed by a puritanical ethos, that passionate love belongs only to the young, that people are dead from the neck down by the time they are forty, and that any deep feeling, any passion after that age, is either ludicrous or revolting!

I am not ready to die, / But I am learning to trust death / As I have trusted life.

I am realizing once and for all the difference as far as I am concerned of women and men and the necessity for both. With a man, however tender he is, one is feeding him - one is always and eternally understanding, mothering, supplying him with faith in himself (not in you).

We are able to laugh when we achieve detachment, if only for a moment.

I sometimes imagine that as one grows older one comes to live a role which as a young person one merely 'played.

So let the world go, but hold fast to joy.

The more articulate one is, the more dangerous words become.