There are songs that come free from the blue-eyed grass, from the dust of a thousand country roads. This is one of them.

The heart never forgets, never gives up, the territory marked off for those who came before.

The reality is not exactly what the song started out to be, but it's not a bad song.

The old dreams were good dreams; they didn't work out but I'm glad I had them.

When a woman makes the choice to marry, to have children; in one way her life begins but in another way it stops. You build a life of details. You become a mother, a wife and you stop and stay steady so that your children can move. And when they leave they take your life of details with them. And then you're expected move again only you don't remember what moves you because no-one has asked in so long. Not even yourself.

Such physical matters were nice, yet, to him, intelligence and passion born of living, the ability to move and be moved by subtleties of the mind and spirit, were what really counted.

I sometimes have the feeling you've been here a long time, more than one lifetime, and that you've dwelt in private places none of the rest of us has even dreamed about.