I cultivate my garden, and my garden cultivates me.
Alas, by the time Fate caught up with my life, Chance had it all planned.
If you can't explain something in a few words, try fewer.
The mind, as you age, Is an artist, it seems. Monet paints your memโries, Picasso your dreams.
There is a public me and a private me, who, if they were separate people, probably wouldn't exchange Christmas cards.
If God had wanted to be a big secret, He would not have created babbling brooks and whispering pines.