Time is a keyhole.... We sometimes bend and peer through it. And the wind we feel on our cheeks when we do--the wind that blows through the keyhole--is the breath of all the living universe.

The poets continually and sometimes wilfully mistake love. Love is the old slaughterer.

And I believe happiness is the exact opposite of sadness, bitterness, and hatred: happiness should remain unexamined as long as possible.

Fault always lies in the same place: with him weak enough to lay blame.

Until we see each other again, keep your head together, read some good books, be useful, be happy.

As far as where I go when I die, the concept that I am simple going to flick out, like a light bulb, to me is not only spiritually impossible to believe, but logically it is laughable - the idea that we simply die and nothing happens.

I worry about you Bev. I worry a lot.