The nearest anyone can come to finding himself at any given age is to find a story that somehow tells him about himself.

At sunrise everything is luminous but not clear.

So it is that we can seldom help anybody. Either we don't know what part to give or maybe we don't like to give any part of ourselves. Then, more often than not, the part that is needed is not wanted. And even more often, we do not have the part that is needed.

A mystery of the universe is how it has managed to survive with so much volunteer help.

I knew that, when needed, mountains would move for me.

Now nearly all those I loved and did not understand when I was young are dead, but I still reach out to them.

Yet even in the loneliness of the canyon I knew there were others like me who had brothers they did not understand but wanted to help. We are probably those referred to as "our brother's keepers," possessed of one of the oldest and possible one of the most futile and certainly one of the most haunting instincts. It will not let us go.