The heart is a foreign country whose language none of us is good at.

I dream of lost vocabularies that might express some of what we no longer can.

The heart lies to itself because it must.

We must have the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless furnace of this world.

We must unlearn the constellations to see the stars.

Everyone forgets Icarus also flew.

I believe that Icarus was not failing as he fell, but just coming to the end of his triumph.

Our heart wanders lost in the dark woods. Our dream wrestles in the castle of doubt. But there’s music in us. Hope is pushed down but the angel flies up again taking us with her.

When I was walking in the mountains with the Japanese man and began to hear the water, he said, 'What is the sound of the waterfall?' 'Silence,' he finally told me.

Why do so manysettle for so little? I don't understand why they're not greedy for what's inside them.

WAKING AT NIGHT The blue river is grey at morning and evening. There is twilight at dawn and dusk. I lie in the dark wondering if this quiet in me now is a beginning or an end.

Water is gold in the desert.

There is a core difference between sharing the gospel with the lost and imposing a specific moral standard on the unconverted.

The smarter the journalists are, the better off society is. For to a degree, people read the press to inform themselves - and the better the teacher, the better the student body.

The value of old age depends upon the person who reaches it. To some men of early performance it is useless. To others, who are late to develop, it just enables them to finish the job.

There is hardly any politically minded man who acknowledges and agrees with every point of the program of a political party.

If the entire team can feel the same way about these things, you can consistently remain a winner.

I am inspired by anything beautiful. Sometime it's a pair of eyes or flowing gorgeous hair, other times it's the sky or a sunset. I've been inspired by supple skin or the texture of a soft shirt.

The night before the Nobel announcement every year, I've gone to bed feeling quite anxious. I was optimistic, and also I knew it might never happen.

A labor of love always pays off.

Kill the pig. Cut her throat. Spill her blood.