The past is a sorry country.
my love of water ... is mingled with and almost indistinguishable from a fear of water (I can float in a vertical position - I enter a fugue state - but I cannot bear to bury my face in water).
Facts mean nothing to wounded feelings.
In the face of evil, detachment is a dubious virtue.
Porches are America's lost rooms.
Nothing is more democratic, less judgmental, than water. Water doesn't care whether flesh is withered or fresh; it caresses aged flesh and firm flesh with equal love.