If fame comes after death, I'm in no hurry for it. [Lat. , Si post fata venit gloria non propero. ]
Prudence does not save us, but shows us pictures of our destroyers.
Clothes make a statement. Costumes tell a story.
Forgiveness is like faith. You have to keep reviving it.
Reading gives us someplace to go when we have to stay where we are.
Faith moves mountains, but you have to keep pushing while you are praying.
Imagination has rules, but we can only guess what they are.
If you are wiling to do something that might not work, you are closer to being an artist.
A people without children would face a hopeless future; a country without trees is almost as helpless.
When dams were erected on the Columbia, salmon battered themselves against the concrete, trying to return home. I expect no less from us. We too must hurl ourselves against and through the literal and metaphorical concrete that contains and constrains us, that keeps us from talking about what is most important to us, that keeps us from living the way our bones know we can, that bars us from our home. It only takes one person to bring down a dam.
It is easy to see things in retrospect. But I was ignorant then of everything but my own happiness, and I don’t know what else to say except that life itself seemed very magical in those days: a web of symbol, coincidence, premonition, omen. Everything, somehow, fit together; some sly and benevolent Providence was revealing itself by degrees and I felt myself trembling on the brink of a fabulous discovery, as though any morning it was all going to come together–my future, my past, the whole of my life–and I was going to sit up in bed like a thunderbolt and say oh! oh! oh!