I Would Be Lost Without

All Of These Declarations Of What Writing Ought To Be, Which I Had Myself-though, Thank God I Had Never Committed Them To Paper-i Think Are Nonsense. You Write What You Write, And Then Either It Holds Up Or It Doesn't Hold Up. There Are No Rules Or Particular Sensibilities. I Don't Believe In That At All Anymore.

...yet A Memory Cannot Be Trusted, For So Much Of The Experience Of The Past Is Determined By The Experience Of The Present.

Gardening Is Really An Extended Form Of Reading, Of History And Philosophy. The Garden Itself Has Become Like Writing A Book. I Walk Around And Walk Around. Apparently People Often See Me Standing There And They Wave To Me And I Don't See Them Because I Am Reading The Landscape.

No Matter How Happy I Had Been In The Past I Do Not Long For It. The Present Is Always The Moment For Which I Love.

The People Who Invented Race, Who Grouped Us Together As "black," Were Inventing And Categorizing Their Ability To Do Something Vicious And Wrong.