I tried to convey to the boy how people’s lives are often altered by curved lines read slowly from paper, sand, or stone.

I think people would be happier if they admitted things more often. In a sense we are all prisoners of some memory, or fear, or disappointment - we are all defined by something we can’t change.

In the end I didn't know who I was crying for, but it was something my body wanted to do, as though trying to digest grief.

Anyone who is desperate or alone will agree there is comfort in routine.

Love is also a violence, and cannot be undone.

We cross from memory into imagination with only a vague awareness of change.

Sometimes I wake up and lie still enough to hear a petal drop from the vase of flowers. Sometimes I lie awake and wish there was someone to hear my falling.

He realized this early on, and realized too that what people think are their lives are merely its conditions. The truth is closer than thought and lies buried in what we already know.

When he smiles, they mostly look away. But Martin likes to think they carry his smile for a few blocks – that even the smallest gesture is something grand.

We all have different lives, Martin believes – but in the end probably feel the same things, and regret the fear we thought might somehow sustain us.

I was afraid of the sea when I was a girl. Someone said it went on forever and that frightened me. I wondered why my parents had chosen to live at the beginning and the end of the world.

There are other beings live in between interval rhythms of our consciousness.

I care so much about everything that I care about nothing

I take it that what all men are really after is some form of perhaps only some formula of peace.

All men are born equally free.

What is it possible to do well, in physics particularly, if things are not reduced to degrees and measures?

Partly because of the desperate economic situation in the country, what were once the leading institutions of conservatism are constrained.

What I think is this: Man is responsible for a PART of global warming. MOST of it is still natural.

I tell him, "Attaway to hit, George."

For try as one may to expel nature with a hayfork, it will always come back.

The question was which spell did I make? Which did I have time to make? The answer was eerily simple. I had time to make all of them.