Don’t complain, don’t explain.

I’d like to go out in the front yard and shout something. “None of this is worth it!” That’s what I’d like people to hear.

Isak Dinesen said that she wrote a little every day, without hope and without despair. I like that.

Write about what you know, and what do you know better than your own secrets?

It's strange. You never start out life with the intention of becoming a bankrupt or an alcoholic or a cheat and a thief. Or a liar.

Happiness. It comes on unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really, any early morning talk about it.

there isn't enough of anything as long as we live. But at intervals a sweetness appears and, given a chance prevails.