Life does not accommodate you; it shatters you. Every seed destroys its container, or else there would be no fruition.

You need only claim the events of your life to make yourself yours. When you truly possess all you have been and done, which may take some time, you are fierce with reality. When at last age has assembled you together, will it not be easy to let it all go, lived, balanced, over?

...[T]here are days when emptiness is spacious, and non-existence elevating.

I admire a contented mind. I revere enjoyment of the simple things. I can imagine that contentment has a high degree of truth. But the human tendency is to take good as normal, and one's natural right, and so no cause for satisfaction and pleasure. This is accompanied by the habit of regarding bad as abnormal and a personal outrage.

I say to life, "You are very hard", and I also say: "We are blind, we prefer to be blind. It is easier...". Life has to be hard to have any affect on us; even now we hardly notice it. Beyond that can one go? I must. I add, "We are also blind to the miracles of good that come to us. We hardly heed them, we even protest against them". Then I am left where I was, appalled by the hardness of life, knowing we are forced to be unwilling heroes. Suddenly I wonder--is all hardness justified because we are so slow in realizing that life was meant to be heroic? Greatness is required of us. That is life's aim and justification, and we poor fools have for centuries been trying to make it convenient, manageable, pliant to our will. It is also peaceful and tender and funny and dull. Yes, all that.

This is what creation is. The might and marvel of forever creating out of opposition.

It is as though God said, "You think to create order? Here is the appropriate disorder, since they are one.

Difficulties are what makes it honorable and interesting to be alive.

Is there any stab as deep as wondering where and how much you failed those you loved?

No matter how old a mother is she still watches her middle-aged children for signs of improvement.

No matter how old a mother is she watches her middle-aged children for signs of improvement.

It is not easy to be sure that being yourself is worth the trouble but [we do know] it is our sacred duty.

Age puzzles me. I thought it was a quiet time. My seventies were interesting and fairly serene but my eighties are passionate. I grow more intense as I age.

We who are old know that age is more than a disability. It is an intense and varied experience almost beyond our capacity at times but something to be carried high.

You need to claim the events in your life to make yourself yours. When you truly possess all you have been and done which may take some time you are fierce with reality.