The Witch's Life" When I was a child there was an old woman in our neighborhood whom we called The Witch. All day she peered from her second story window from behind the wrinkled curtains and sometimes she would open the window and yell: Get out of my life! She had hair like kelp and a voice like a boulder. I think of her sometimes now and wonder if I am becoming her.

... a starving man doesn't ask what the meal is.

[I] have fantasies of killing myself and thus being the powerful one not the powerless one.

In a letter (no matter how quickly it is written or honestly or freely or lovingly) it is more possible to be loving and lovable, more possible to reach out and to take in ... I feel I have somehow deceived you into thinking this is really a human relationship. It is a letter relationship between humans.

I have been cut in two.

The joy that isn't shared dies young.

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