We have to dare to be ourselves, however frightening and strange that self may prove to be.
Love opens the doors into everything, as far as I can see, including and perhaps most of all, the door into one’s own secret, and often terrible and frightening, real self.
For any writer who wants to keep a journal, be alive to everything, not just to what you’re feeling, but also to your pets, to flowers, to what you’re reading.
But tears are an indulgence. Memory sings.
No partner in a love relationship should feel that he has to give up an essential part of himself to make it viable.
Without darkness, nothing comes to birth, As without light, nothing flowers.
How slowly one comes to understand anything!
One thing is certain, and I have always known it – the joys of my life have nothing to do with age. They do not change. Flowers, the morning and evening light, music, poetry, silence, the goldfinches darting about.
I would like to believe when I die that I have given myself away like a tree that sows seed every spring and never counts the loss, because it is not loss, it is adding to future life. It is the tree’s way of being. Strongly rooted perhaps, but spilling out its treasure on the wind.
Everything that slows us down and forces patience, everything that sets us back into the slow circles of nature, is a help. Gardening is an instrument of grace.
Fire is a good companion for the mind...
The minute one utters a certainty, the opposite comes to mind.