I´ve blown it, the whole grisly charade.

My mother is a firm believer in the long pause, useful in interrogations, proclamations of truth, and the occasional cutting dead of someone without their knowing it.

Delusion detests focus and romance provides the veil.

I mentally bless and exonerate anyone who has kicked a chair out from beneath her or swallowed opium in large chunks. My mind has met their environment, here in the void. I understand perfectly.

In so many senseless deaths, beauty is to blame.

Why is edamame always ready to expire? It´s so urgent for a vegetable. Edamame. It sounds like an assisted form of suicide. Is there an advertising concept in this?

I used to loathe ambivalence now I adore it. Ambivalence is my new best friend.

The snag about marriage is, it isn´t worth the divorce.

They feel life is for the taking, and that everyone deserves happiness no matter what the cost. I must remember these tricks if I ever decide to have my soul surgically removed.

Surprises, I feel now, are primarily a form of violence.

I love you as the mother of my child": the kiss of death.Mother of His Child: demotion. I am beginning to see this truism: Mothers are not always wives. I have been stripped of a piece of self.

Such elusive puzzles recall the historian's basic dilemma: the absence of evidence does not always signify evidence of absence. In the end, we will likely never know.

If all else fails, we then factor (fall) into our equation. And pray hard, someone factors (catching us) into theirs.

There are reasons to doubt that what we call the laws of physics necessarily apply everywhere in the universe—or that they were applicable to every time in its history.

The school is a mother

Appetite, n. An instinct thoughtfully implanted by Providence as a solution to the labor question.

We as actors doubt up until the last minute that we can be this person. So everything matters, the more work you do, you get in touch with who the character is.

Wagers and pacts are made with angels - or with devils.

Almost any poem has to be read twice, first for strangeness, second for clarity.

Jupiter from on high smiles at the perjuries of lovers.

Until we Dream of Life and Life becomes a Dream.