Trees and plants always look like the people they live with, somehow.

I want a busy life, a just mind, and a timely death.

Love, I find, is like singing. Everybody can do enough to satisfy themselves, though it may not impress the neighbors as being very much.

I feel most colored when I am thrown against a sharp white background.

Grown people know that they do not always know the why of things, and even if they think they know, they do not know where and how they got the proof. Hence the irritation they show when children keep on demanding to know if a thing is so and how the grown folks got the proof of it. It is so troublesome because it is disturbing to the pigeonhole way of life.

There are years that ask questions and years that answer.

Happiness is nothing but everyday living seen through a veil.