She looks up at me, still rocking. “Henry . . . why did me decide to do this again?” “Supposedly when it’s over they hand you a baby and let you keep it.” “Oh yeah.” --Wednesday, September 5, 2001

Love the world and yourself in it, move through it as though it offers no resistance, as though the world is your natural element.

I look at him, look at the book, remember, this book, this moment, the first book I ever loved

Chaos is more freedom; in fact, total freedom. But no meaning.

It was silly, wasn't it? But the singing made it not silly.

I never understood why Clark Kent was so hell bent on keeping Lois Lane in the dark.

There was only the cemetery itself, spread out in the moonlight like a soft grey hallucination, a stony wilderness of Victorian melancholy.