Each of us needs to withdraw from the cares which will not withdraw from us. We need hours of aimless wandering or spates of time sitting on park benches, observing the mysterious world of ants and the canopy of treetops.

One of the saddest things in the world is to see a cynical young person.

When I look back, I am so impressed again with the life-giving power of literature.

Love is many things. It is varied. One thing love is not, is unsure.

Without courage we cannot practice any other virtue with consistency.

Soft you day, be velvet soft, My true love approaches, Look you bright, you dusty sun, Array your golden coaches. Soft you wind, be soft as silk My true love is speaking. Hold you birds, your silver throats, His golden voice I'm seeking. Come you death, in haste, do come My shroud of black be weaving, Quiet my heart, be deathly quiet, My true love is leaving.

We are missing Michael. But we do know we had him, and we are the world.