In spring, I have counted 136 different kinds of weather inside of 24 hours.
The Sun shines not on us but in us.
The Rivers flow not past, but through us.
To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug.
From the voice of a devastated Earth a voice goes up with our own. It says 'Disarm! Disarm! The sword of murder is not the balance of justice.'
Wars and elections are both too big and too small to matter in the long run. The daily work that goes on, it adds up.
A hero is someone who has given his or her life to something bigger than oneself.
On this June day the buds in my garden are almost as enchanting as the open flowers. Things in bud bring, in the heat of a June noontide, the recollection of the loveliest days of the year—those days in May when all is suggested, nothing yet fulfilled.
Art must be an expression of love or it is nothing.
You can decide to be someone who brings people together, or you can fall prey to those who wish to divide us. You can be someone who educates yourself, or you can believe being negative is clever and being cynical is fashionable. You have a choice.
Graduation day is tough for adults. They go to the ceremony as parents. They come home as contemporaries. After 22 years of childrearing, they are unemployed.