Every great or even every very good writer makes the world over according to his own specifications.

there isn't enough of anything as long as we live. But at intervals a sweetness appears and, given a chance prevails.

Life and death matters, yes. And the question of how to behave in this world, how to go in the face of everything. Time is short and the water is rising.

That's all we have, finally, the words, and they had better be the right ones.

Write about what you know, and what do you know better than your own secrets?

And what did you want? To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on the earth.

I could hear my heart beating. I could hear everyone's heart. I could hear the human noise we sat there making, not one of us moving, not even when the room went dark.

It ought to make us feel ashamed when we talk like we know what we're talking about when we talk about love.

The places where water comes together with other water. Those places stand out in my mind like holy places.

Dreams, you know, are what you wake up from.

But I can hardly sit still. I keep fidgeting, crossing one leg and then the other. I feel like I could throw off sparks, or break a window--maybe rearrange all the furniture.

He'd do what he always did, find the sweet among the bitter.

Is kissing you generally considered a joyful affair?" -

Love me love my dog.

You have seen after Katrina just what failures there are in American Society.

We need a total ban on foreign lobbyists raising money for American elections.

There is never a crowd on the leading edge.

We have 50,000 moments of truth every day.

Baby, I've tried to find a place inside your heart. Oh, but it's hard to start a fire without a spark.

I've lived many places all over the world, so I've always seen myself as a citizen of the world.