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By the time it came to the edge of the Forest, the stream had grown up, so that it was almost a river, and, being grown-up, it did not run and jump and sparkle along as it used to do when it was younger, but moved more slowly. For it knew now where it was going, and it said to itself, “There is no hurry. We shall get there some day.†But all the little streams higher up in the Forest went this way and that, quickly, eagerly, having so much to find out before it was too late.
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Every historian loves the past or should do. If not, he has mistaken his vocation; but it is a short step from loving the past to regretting that it has ever changed. Conservatism is our greatest trade-risk; and we run psychoanalysts close in the belief that the only "normal" people are those who cause no trouble either to themselves or anybody else.
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I've had my run in with trouble. Fortunately, you know, one slap on the hand is usually the last time for me... I learned my lesson.
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Now I've even gotten to running out to the fan buses that pass by our house, so I can talk to the people. I think I'm trying to gather fans, frankly. They're very, very nice people - they really understand. It's fun talking to them.
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It is essential for me to become involved in another search, and 'search' is the proper word to use because it promises discovery along with the risk.
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If you work around at-risk teen students, actually tell them you love them and have faith in their success. No one tells them that. No one.
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I don't see the risk, I enjoy performing stunts, and I don't get scared.
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Dance on the edge of mystery.
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It is enough for me to contemplate the mystery of conscious life perpetuating itself through all eternity, to reflect upon the marvelous structure of the universe which we dimly perceive, and to try humbly to comprehend an infinitesimal part of the intelligence manifested in nature.
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One does not go to the theater to escape from himself, but to reestablish contact with the mystery that we all are.
