She collapsed. I stepped forward and caught her. I thought of two trees nearly unrooted and leaning against each other.

Grief is an element. It has its own cycle like the carbon cycle, the nitrogen. It never diminishes not ever. It passes in and out of everything.

I want to be two people at once. One runs away.

I think now that maybe true sweetness can only happen in limbo.

That is what we are, what we do: nose a net, push push, a net that never exists. The knots in the mesh as strong as our own believing. Our own fears.

To multiply the years and divide by the desire to live is a kind of false accounting.

If there is nothing else there is this: to be inundated, consumed.

He is at home with his solitude as the note reverberating inside a bell.

So I wonder what it is this need to tell.To animate somehow the deathly stillness of the profoundest beauty. Breathe life in the telling.

The man was more highly strung than Margaret Thatcher on the rag, God rest her.

We can't reliably distinguish true memories from false memories.

Do everything like someone is gazing at you.

I think of my art materials not as junk but as garbage. Manure, actually: it goes from being the waste material of one being to the life-source of another.

Basketball. I love it. I can't believe these giants move like kids. They are so flexible.

And connected is helping people stay in touch and maintain empathy for each other, and bandwidth.

It's very hard to predict what people are thinking.

You just do the best you can with what you've got... and sometimes magic strikes.

Threats are the last resort of a man with no vocabulary.

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, morn of toil, nor night of waking.