You have to get over the color green; you have to quit associating beauty with gardens and lawns; you have to get used to an inhuman scale; you have to understand geological time.

You can plan all you want to. You can lie in your morning bed and fill whole notebooks with schemes and intentions. But within a single afternoon, within hours or minutes, everything you plan and everything you have fought to make yourself can be undone as a slug is undone when salt is poured on him. And right up to the moment when you find yourself dissolving into foam you can still believe you are doing fine.

Youth hasn't got anything to do with chronological age. It's times of hope and happiness.

No place is a place until things that have happened in it are remembered in history, ballads, yarns, legends, or monuments. Fictions serve as well as facts.

The meeting of writer and reader is an intimate act, and it properly takes place in private.

I am impressed by how much of my grandparent's life depended on continuities, contacts, connections, friendships, and blood relationships.

The brook would lose its song if we removed the rocks.