No one has really ever defined what a friend is.
we are all given the ingredients of happiness, but the mixing is left to ourselves.
Death is the opening-and the closing-of a Door.
What the world, social and political, concrete and mental, really needs is not new things, but the old things made new.
Promises were made for people who do not trust each other.
There is no such thing as time for those who are happy. For the others - there is nothing else.
there was not a tree on the place, only the horrible prickly pear bushes thrusting out their distorted arms as if exulting in their own nakedness.
Often, when you've reached a very high level of achievement, you almost become paralyzed by the idea that anything you might do might be imperfect. Perfection is just the striving, the effort, the struggle, but it's hard to remember that.
Cease looking for flowers! There blooms a garden in your own home. While you look for trinkets The treasure house awaits you in your own being.
Young writers find their first audience in little magazines, and experimental writers find their only audience there.
Everyone carries the weight of WWII with them in their recent family history, and yet it is rarely spoken about within families, because veterans and survivors don't tend to talk.