I've come to think that if doing something simple or silly can give a person pleasure, then, by God, do it
I had brought something out of the earth, and it was used to make something beautiful.
How love builds itself unconsciously, he thought, out of the momentous ordinary.
He and I had a bridge that no one else traveled that made us artistic lovers, passionate without a touch of the flesh. He made me thrive, and valuing that, I could do nothing that would endanger it.
Has it ever occurred to you that to clutch at life fearfully, unwilling to spend it, is not a form of gratitude to God for life? Lizzie looked at her as if pained by some bright light. But to fling on...
Bicyclist's Philosophy of Life..."It's a matter of faith. You can keep upright only by moving forward. You have to have your eyes on the goal, not the ground.
Had been at the Vanderbilt mansion in Hyde Park all week,
At age seventy-four, she was asked what had been the outstanding events of her life. She responded, Work and more work! . . . loving everything terrifically. . . . The outstanding event to me is the d...
William uncorked the bottle and poured. 'Here’s to the end of summer.' 'A beautiful summer,' Bernard added. 'I wish it would last forever,' Alice said. 'You wouldn’t value it as much,' said Bernard. '...
The painting showed she did not yet know that lives end abruptly, that much of living is repetition and separation, that buttons forever need re-sewing no matter how ferociously one works the thread,...
Page 357 - if the mountain was smooth, you couldn't climb it.
Love is so easily bruised by the necessity of making choices.
In the end, it's only the moments that we have.
How easily a parent’s motive could be misconstrued by an injured child.
Her stony coldness was more convincing of the cataclysm than the dirt. Argument was as futile now as blame in Eden. I could not bear to look at her. She had cast away her soul.
But even one-way love, fleeting love, is better than no love at all. I’m grateful for having had the feeling.
This girl, when she became a woman, would risk all, sacrifice all, overlook and endure all in order to be one with her beloved.
She plucked a raspberry. Sweet juice, sweet pleasure. Within the tangle of tendrils, inside a blossom, a tiny bead was kisses and blessed by the sun, from which it took in light and warmth and heaven'...
Never did she succumb to the cowardice of self-pity. I had fancied love a causal adjunct and not the central turning shaft making all the parts move. I had not stood astonished before the power of its...
If, indeed, that was love, it wasn't enough.