The scolding voice is her own, so abrasive and quick, yet so powerless to move her.

Eventually, everything gets stuck between a pair of parentheses or buried in the bottom of a trunk.

Open a book this minute and start reading. Don’t move until you’ve reached page fifty. Until you’ve buried your thoughts in print. Cover yourself with words. Wash yourself away. Dissolve.

In a long and healthy life, which is what most of us have, there is plenty of time.

Here's to another year and let's hope it's above ground.

Words are our life. We are human because we use language. So I think we are less human when we use less language.

A childhood is what anyone wants to remember of it. It leaves behind no fossils, except perhaps in fiction.