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d84a444
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Novels and gardens," she says. "I like to move from plot to plot." --
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reading
humor
gardening
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Bill Richardson |
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565ead7
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And so we became who we are: gentle and bookish and ever so slightly confused. It is not a bad way to be, when all is said and done.
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Bill Richardson |
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db08a20
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yes is all you ever need to say to begin a journey.
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Bill Richardson |
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e54824f
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The conversation progressed, bumper-car style, to a very heated discussion about death and the survival of the soul. It amazes me that we, as a species, can argue so fervently over something that is, when all is said and done, unknowable and unprovable. Nonetheless, we all arrive at conclusions and cleave to our certainties: that there is nothing but the Void; or that we will find ourselves writing an admissions exam at the Pearly Gates.
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death
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Bill Richardson |
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fc5b355
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Meeting a dragon is like falling in love. Even though you have never experienced it before, you will know when it has happened.
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Bill Richardson |
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08d8aa7
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When did "sentimental" become a pejorative barb? I do not at all share the notion that a piece of music, or a poem, or a film that bypasses the brain and aims straight for the heart . . . should automatically be heaped with scorn. I think it is symptomatic of a sad and dangerous impoverishment of spirit."
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Bill Richardson |
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d19fcc1
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The heart, I think, which is the home of all things rhythmic, is where learned poems go to live.
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poems
poetry
memorization
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Bill Richardson |
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85dbb2e
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I say I have made it a rule not to preach. However, anyone who is 101 has earned the right to break her own rules. Once in a while, at least. And so, I am going to give you one piece of advice. Pause once a day and relish the moment. Look around. Notice the colours, the smells and the sounds. Take them in, for that moment will pass and no one can say what the next moment will bring. I know this better than most.
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Bill Richardson |
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4b13c72
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It was as if that day was so dark that my mind folded in on itself, protectively, the way a daisy will at night.
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Bill Richardson |
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b700ad4
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Below us lay a valley white with snow. It was criss-crossed with lines, like a great cupped palm. But not even an expert seer would have had time to read the story of our future. Before we could get our bearings, my feet had quit the ground. Suddenly we were airborne and flying fast, carving a path between the rolling snow below and the glittering galaxies above.
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Bill Richardson |