I’ve always looked like this—in between. Is there ever an age when a person looks exactly like themselves?

You know how hard it is to actually touch the world? To make a mark on it? You die and they bury you in it.

That’s what children eventually were for their aging parents: custodians of technology, free personal IT departments keeping them from disappearing forever from the universal cloud.

Women had cup sizes to track their development. Men had a ruler and hope.

Maybe, in the end, a home is a place where you have no other choice but to stay.

Everyone loves a dead artist. It’s the living ones that people can’t tolerate.

All your convictions come back to mock you when you reach a certain age.

Sometimes it seemed like the whole point of life was not to die the same death as your father.

An odd thing souvenir-hunting: now becomes then even while it is still now.

If I had but two loaves of bread, I would sell one and buy hyacinths, for they would feed my soul.

Your father died for me, and dying with you would be an honor, though not as great as dying to save you.

I can only speak for my husband and myself, but we don't feel like we could do any of this parenting without our faith.

The word music is a convenient way to talk about what I'm interested in, but actually, in some ways, it's a limitation.

If we only do what we're familiar with, we might miss what we've been made for.

I am a certified yoga teacher and I love to cycle and swim.

That's always the way when you discover something new; everyone thinks you're crazy.

We are stratified creatures, creatures full of abysses, with a soul of inconstant quicksilver, with a mind whose color and shape change as in a kaleidoscope that is constantly shaken.

Inferior guards play on the sidelines and great guards play in the middle. Isiah, Magic, Chris Paul, all get to the middle