Life is like a bridge-cross over it but don't establish yourself upon it.

Life is like playing a violin solo in public and learning the instrument as one goes on.

Folks, I'm telling you, birthing is hard and dying is mean- so get yourself a little loving in between.

What is laid down, ordered, factual, is never enough to embrace the whole truth; life always spills over the rim of every cup.

Life is an onion which one peels crying.

I long ago came to the conclusion that all life is six to five against.

Each day is a little life; every waking and rising a little birth, every fresh morning a little youth, every going to rest and sleep a little death.

Through the years, a man peoples a space with images of provinces, kingdoms, mountains, bays, ships, islands, fishes, rooms, tools, stars, horses, and people. Shortly before his death, he discovers that the patient labyrinth of lines traces the image of his own face.

Iife/personality must be taken as a total entity. All of your life is all of your life, and no one incident stands alone.

An atom tossed in a chaos made Of yeasting worlds, which bubble and foam. Whence have I come? What would be home? I hear no answer. I am afraid!