November is chill, frosted mornings with a silver sun rising behind the trees, red cardinals at the feeders, and squirrels running scallops along the tops of the gray stone walls.

Lilacs are May in essence.

June is the gateway to summer.

In March winter is holding back and spring is pulling forward. Something holds and something pulls inside of us too.

January is the month for dreaming.

Some days confidence shrinks to the size of a pea, and the backbone feels like a feather. We want to be somewhere else, and don't know where - want to be someone else and don't know who.

In July everybody you telephone is somewhere else - either on the beach or on vacation, and half the time you're somewhere else too.

I love planting bulbs. It is making promises with tomorrow, believing in next year and the future.

When you plant early, you bring spring early.

No friend had I made there, but I wasn't with this group to make friends, and besides, he sneered too much. I've found that people who sneer are almost always sneering at me.

Three minutes' thought would suffice to find this out . but thought is irksome and three minutes is a long time.

Flying cars are not a very efficient way to move things from one point to another.

Those who can ask without shame are viewing themselves in collaboration with-rather than in competition with-the world.

I am an expressionist and by that I mean that I'm not a photographer or a writer or a painter or a tap dancer, but rather someone who expresses himself according to his needs.

Open up to the other dimensional planes so you can penetrate the mysteries of existence and enjoy the wonder of being, the wonder of being you.

There is no greater power than the power of love, which arises from Presence. It overcomes all resistance.

I don't bask in the awards I've won, read my bank statements, I refuse. To me, that's how you start losing the hunger.

The man of culture finds the whole past relevant; the bourgeois and the barbarian find relevant only what has some pressing connection with their appetite.

The third absolute right, inherent in every Englishman, is that of . . . the sacred and inviolable rights of private property.