A dog can't think that much about what he's doing, he just does what feels right.

Solitude is a human presumption. Every quiet step is thunder to beetle life underfoot, a tug of impalpable thread on the web pulling mate to mate and predator to prey, a beginning or an end. Every choice is a world made new for the chosen.

High fashion has the shelf life of potato salad. And when past its prime, it is similarly deadly.

This will be Great Mam's last spring. Her last June apples. Her last fresh roasting ears from the garden.

I believe that the people who survive a cataclysm, rather than those who stand by and analyze it, are nearly always the more credible witnesses to their own history.

The arrogance of the able-bodied is staggering. Yes, maybe we'd like to be able to get places quickly, and carry things in both hands but only because we have to keep up with the rest of you ... We would rather be just like us, and have that be all right.

There was a roaring in my ears and I lost track of what they were saying. I believe it was the physical manifestation of unbearable grief.