I don’t know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention...
Rhythm is one of the most powerful of pleasures, and when we feel a pleasurable rhythm we hope it will continue. When it does, it grows sweeter.
Because of the dog’s joyfulness, our own is increased. It is no small gift.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.
He is exactly the poem I wanted to write.
Always there is something worth saying about glory, about gratitude.
I have a little dog who likes to nap with me. He climbs on my body and puts his face in my neck. He is sweeter than soap. He is more wonderful than a diamond necklace, which can’t even bark...
A dog can never tell you what she knows from the smells of the world, but you know, watching her, that you know almost nothing.
I tell you this to break your heart, by which I mean only that it break open and never close again to the rest of the world.
I simply do not distinguish between work and play.
Though I play at the edges of knowing, truly I know our part is not knowing, but looking, and touching, and loving.
There were times over the years when life was not easy, but if you’re working a few hours a day and you’ve got a good book to read, and you can go outside to the beach and dig for clams, you’re okay.
And to tell the truth I don’t want to let go of the wrists of idleness, I don’t want to sell my life for money, I don’t even want to come in out of the rain.
You want to cry aloud for your mistakes. But to tell the truth the world doesn’t need any more of that sound.
I want to be braver and more honest about my life. When you’re sexually abused, there’s a lot of damage.
In college, you learn how to learn. Four years is not too much time to spend at that.
You may not agree, you may not care, but if you are holding this book you should know that of all the sights I love in this world – and there are plenty – very near the top of the list is this one: dogs without leashes.
Do you love this world? Do you cherish your humble and silky life? Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?
I love the line of Flaubert about observing things very intensely. I think our duty as writers begins not with our own feelings, but with the powers of observing.
It’s morning, and again I am that lucky person who is in it.