Your heart is like a great river after a long spell of rain, spilling over its banks. All signposts that once stood on the ground are gone, inundated and carried away by that rush of water. And still the rain beats down on the surface of the river. Every time you see a flood like that on the news you tell yourself: That’s it. That’s my heart.

No man has ever lived that had enough of children's gratitude or woman's love.

The essential building block is...the true love that is impossible to define for those who have never experienced it and unnecessary to define for those who have.

When you come right down to it, the secret to having it all is loving it all.

Although our love is waning, let us stand by the lone border of the lake once more, together in that hour of gentleness. When the poor tired child, passion, falls asleep.

Write me of hope and love, and hearts that endured.