I know people. Most have no earthly notion of the price of a snow-white conscience.

Thanks for this day, for all birds safe in their nests, for whatever this is, for life.

Perhaps growing up meant we put our knives away and feigned ignorance of the damage.

The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words.

I know I have to write about the things that keep me awake at night.

Human manners are wildly inconsistent; plenty of people have said so. But this one takes the cake: the manner in which we're allowed to steal from future generations, while commanding them not to do that to us, and rolling our eyes at anyone who is tediously PC enough to point that out. The conspicious consumption of limited resources has yet to be accepted widely as a spirtual error, or even bad manners.

I know how people are, with their habits of mind. Most will sail through from cradle to grave with a conscience clean as snow...I know people. Most have no earthly notion of the price of a snow-white conscience.