I blame myself for not often enough seeing the extraordinary in the ordinary. Somewhere in his journals, Dostoyevky remarks that a writer can begin anywhere, at the most commonplace thing, scratch around in it long enough, pry and dig away long enough, and lo!, soon he will hit upon the marvelous.

When the striving ceases, there is life waiting as a gift.

If I had a child of school age, I would send him to one of the Waldorf Schools.

One must bear in mind the odd angle or slant that the rays of love have to take in order to reach a heart like mine.

A man is only as good as what he loves.

California is like an artificial limb the rest of the country doesn't really need. You can quote me on that.

Any artist should be grateful for a naive grace which puts him beyond the need to reason elaborately.