Old places fire the internal weather of our pasts. The mild winds, aching calms, and hard storms of forgotten emotions return to us when we return to the spots where they happened.

That is the strangeness of language: it crosses the boundaries of the body, is at once inside and outside, and it sometimes happens that we don't notice the threshold has been crossed.

Our memory fragments don't have any coherence until they're imagined in words. Time is a property of language, of syntax, and tense.

We read each other through our eyes, and anatomically they are an extension of our brains. When we catch someone's eye, we look into a mind.

Crippled and crazy, we hobble toward the finish line, pen in hand.

He wanted to show her how to live, even after he was gone.

Empirical sciences prosecuted purely for their own sake, and without philosophic tendency are like a face without eyes.

You know how people say they're either like a cat or a dog? I feel like a cat. I just want to be alone. Isn't that weird? It's a lot to take in.

I just try to do my best and make the best judgments I can.

Love does not judge. Love promotes personal growth.

No matter who you are, no matter where you come from, you are beautiful.

We will not "forget" so as to be able to rejoice; we will rejoice and therefore let those memories (of wrongs suffered) slip out of our minds!

The Rosary is my favorite prayer.

The little people must be sacred to the big ones, and it is from the rights of the weak that the duty of the strong is comprised.

Accomplishments of children shine most brightly in the light of a parent's sincere praise.