You can get used to eating breakfast with a man in a fedora. You can get used to anything, my mother was in the habit of saying.

We are only midway through the central verse of our youth when we see ourselves begin to blacken. ... We had been seduced into thinking that we were immortal and suddenly the affair is over.

To live past the end of your myth is a perilous thing.

A page with a poem on it is less attractive than a page with a poem on it and some tea stains.

Blessed be they whose lives do not taste of evilbut if some god shakes your houseruin arrivesruin does not leaveit comes tolling over the generationsit comes rolling the black night salt up from the ocean floorand all your thrashed coasts groan

Sometimes a journey makes itself necessary.

What makes life life and not a simple story? Jagged bits moving never still, all along the wall.