Marrying a woman for her beauty makes no more sense than eating a bird for its singing. But it's a common mistake nonetheless.

Ask her what she craved, and she'd get a little frantic about things like books, the woods, music. Plants and the seasons. Also freedom.

We are not strong enough to stand up against endless grief, And yet pain is the constant drone of life. So if we are to have any happiness at all, it is only in the passing instant.

She always carried a book, though, in case she needed to read a few pages to avoid unwanted conversation.

Claim your space. Draw a circle of light around it. Push back against the dark. Don't just survive. Celebrate.

Thinking: this journey will be the axle of my life.

All I can say is that we are mistaken to gouge such a deep rift in history that the things old men and old women know have become so useless as to be not worth passing on to grandchildren.

Well, I'm a slow writer. For me, a good day is a page, maybe a page and a half. I'd love to be more efficient, but I am not.

I had never taken creative writing classes. Hadn't even considered it.

A lizard in the spring - hear his darling sing. A bird with wings to fly - go back to his darling weep and moan till he dies. A mole in the ground - root a mountain down.

He tried to name which of the deadly seven might apply, and when he failed he decided to append an eighth, regret.

May this Soulful understanding of Christmas invite - the peace, harmony and serenity you deserve.

When I consider life, it is all a cheat. Yet fooled with hope, people favor this deceit.

Our utilitarian structures will mature into architecture only when, through their fulfillment of function, they become carriers of the will of the age.

Sooner or later a false belief bumps up against solid reality, usually on a battlefield.

Its impossible to go onto the Tardis set and not play with things and fiddle with dials.

Failure to meditate in the morning increases the probability of chaos throughout the day.

It's only those who do nothing that make no mistakes, I suppose.

A book, I was taught long ago in English class, is a living and breathing document that grows richer with each new reading.

Truth is a hard deer to hunt. If you eat too much truth at once, you might die of the truth.

My affections were first for my own country, then, generally, for all mankind