Gardening Is The Instrument Of Grace.

We Are All, Whether We Know It Or Not, In Search Of A Way To Enrich, To Drink During The Fizz, To Inhale Deeper Our Gifts, In A Desperation For Some Little Understanding Before Death.

Whatever Peace I Know Rests In The Natural World, In Feeling Myself A Part Of It, Even In A Small Way.

I Suppose Real Old Age Begins When One Looks Backward Rather Than Forward

When It Comes To The Important Things One Is Always Alone.

Poetry Has A Way Of Teaching One What One Needs To Know ... If One Is Honest.