The body is a damn hard thing to kill.

Suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build.

Writers are such phonies: they sometimes have wise insights but they don't live by them at all. That's what writers are like...you think they know something, but usually they are just messes.

As it has been said: Love and a cough cannot be concealed. Even a small cough. Even a small love.

Images are the heart of poetry ... You're not a poet without imagery.

Women tell time by the body. They are like clocks. They are always fastened to the earth, listening for its small animal noises.

I suffer for birds and fireflies but not frogs, she said, and threw him across the room. Kaboom! Like a genie out of a samovar, a handsome prince arose in the corner of the bedroom.