I wanted the past to go away, I wanted to leave it, like another country; I wanted my life to close, and open like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song where it falls down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery; I wanted to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know,whoever I was, I wasalive for a little while.

You must not ever stop being whimsical. And you must not, ever, give anyone else the responsibility for your life.

When it's over, I want to say: all my lifeI was a bride married to amazement.I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms. When it is over, I don't want to wonderif I have made of my life something particular, and real.I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,or full of argument. I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

It's more than bones.It's more than the delicate wrist with its personal pulse.It's more than the beating of the single heart.It's praising.It's giving until the giving feels like receiving.You have a life - just imagine that!You have this day, and maybe another, and maybe still another.

To pay attention, this is our endless and proper work.

So come to the pond, or the river of your imagination, or the harbor of your longing,and put your lips to the world.And live your life.

I wanted the past to go away, I wantedto leave it, like another country; I wantedmy life to close, and openlike a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the songwhere it fallsdown over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery;I wantedto hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know,whoever I was, I wasalivefor a little while.

if you live simply and with a lyrical heartin the cumbered neighborhoods or even,as Mozart sometimes managed to, in a palace,offering tune after tune after tune,making some hard-hearted princeprudent and kind, just by being happy

Everyone now and again wonders aboutthose questions that have no readyanswers: first cause, God's existence,what happens when the curtain goesdown and nothing stops it, not kissing,not going to the mall, not the SuperBowl."Wild roses," I said to them one morning."Do you have the answers? And if you do,would you tell me?"The roses laughed softly. "Forgive us,"they said. "But as you can see, we arejust now entirely busy being roses.