had almost forgotten the wet brush of your kisses… soft as April snowflakes

Here's what I've learned - people will hurt you, but you don't have to respond: Not every mean comment or cruel act deserves to be noticed.

December's wintery breath is already clouding the pond, frosting the pane, obscuring summer's memory.

Freshly cut Christmas trees smelling of stars and snow and pine resin - inhale deeply and fill your soul with wintry night.

The winter is kind and leaves red berries on the boughs for hungry sparrows.

I hear the sounds of melting snow outside my window every night and with the first faint scent of spring, I remember life exists

Dark furrow lines grid the snow, punctuated by orange abacus beads of pumpkins - now the crows own the field.

You think so logically... like a hawk soaring - I feel so chaotically... like a kite without a tail plummeting to earth.

I love it when the dark bottle of night spills out, and the Moon writes in chalk about us.

It must be hard when you are a beautiful woman and no one will look at your soul.

Sunday evenings are heavier than clouds with rain, darker too and often interminable.

I never go into the country for a change of air and a holiday. I always go instead into the eighteenth century.

The sea, he thought, had treasured it's memories deeper than the faithless land.

The most evil institution in the world is the Roman Catholic Church.

The percentage of mistakes in quick decisions is no greater than in long-drawn-out vacillations and the effect of decisiveness itself "makes things go" and creates confidence.

The trouble with anger is, it gets hold of you. And then you aren't the master of yourself anymore. Anger is. And when anger is the boss, you get unintended consequences.

At the end of each day, you should play back the tapes of your performance. The results should either applaud you or prod you.

I'm always cribbing from real life. I'm not a very creative filmmaker.

I don't go to the sale rack. But I wouldn't say I am decadent in my spending. I am careful.

Trane was the perfect saxophonist for Monk's music because of the space that Monk always used. Trane could fill up all that space with all them chords and sounds he was playing then.

if i can only recount the story of my life right out of my body flames will grow