At my age, you not only have bittersweet memories, you make bittersweet plans.

Take no revenge that you have not pondered beneath a starry sky, or on a canyon overlook, or to the lapping of waves and the mewing of a distant gull.

If indeed the death of a child is part of a larger plan, you wonder if God ever considered a smaller plan.

You never get people's fuller attention than when you're listening to them.

As a gardener, I wonder if flowers really can't speak or just exercise unfailing good judgment in the matter.

The artist's talent sits uneasy as an object of public acclaim, having been so long an object of private despair.

Love is at first a set of delusions, which, as time goes by, are discarded like training wheels, and you love truly.