What are you doing?" Nothing. Breaking and entering. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

The pain has left but I know that it has not gone far, that it is sulking somewhere in a corner or under the bed and it will jump out when I least expect it.

I sit quietly and think about my mom. It's funny how memory erodes, If all I had to work from were my childhood memories, my knowledge of my mother would be faded and soft, with a few sharp memories standing out.

I have a sort of Christmas-morning sense of the library as a big box full of beautiful books.

I hate to be where she is not, when she is not. And yet, I am always going. - Henry deTamble

I don't want to boss anyone and I don't want to be bossed.

The compelling thing about making art - or making anything, I suppose - is the moment when the vaporous, insubstantial idea becomes a solid there, a thing, a substance in a world of substances.