Memory is, first, a captivating mystery.

Pondering was the highest vocation... Pondering was a special kind of thinking. It was not done in the mind, that chilly place, but in the heart, where the real mystery of intelligence - intuition - rather than thought lay catlike and feminine, ready to pounce.

It's always a thrilling risk to say exactly what you mean, to express exactly what you see.

Memory is, first, a captivating mystery.

True memoir is written, like all literature, in an attempt to find not only a self but a world

Refuse to write your life and you have no life.

landscape, that vast still life, invites description, not narration. It is lyric. It has no story: it is the beloved, and asks only to be contemplated.