She's a surprise this old earth, one big surprise after another since before she separated from the moon who circles and circles like the mate of a shot goose.

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.

Funny how you can live a whole life waiting and not know it.

It is okay for people you love to leave. For them to come and go. She taught it to me over and over.

You rest now. Rest for longer than you are used to resting. Make a stillness around you, a field of peace. Your best work, the best time of your life will grow out of this peace.

Most of us are never seen, not clearly, and when we are we likely jump and run.

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.

Maybe the most real thing the end. To realize when it's too late.

Never work just for money or for power. They won't save your soul or help you sleep at night.

The burnt-off connectors and shadows where Ravan once filled my spaces— those, I think, are the sensations of grief.

I didn't feel like I had control over anything else in my life, but food was something I could control, so I did.

I’ve had guns pointed at me, and I can tell you that it’s not the right place to be standing if some is really mad at you!

Perfectionism sucks the air out of your uniqueness and leaves you empty, away from who you could become.

Let us now set forth one of the fundamental truths about marriage: the wife is in charge.

The probability that the bowman's arrow hits the deer does not lie in the arrow or the deer. It lies in the bowman's mind.

Despair is not a particularly respectable condition and yet despair and delight alternate like systole and diastole in my heart.

We keep a journal to entrap that collection of selves that forms us, the individual human being.

Let life be short, else shame will be too long.