He dares not concern himself with the future for fear of disturbing the present.

These are frightening times...when she feels herself annointed by loneliness.

I'm concerned about the unknowability of other people.

Anyone's childhood can be an act of disablement if rehearsed and replayed and squinted at in a certain light. . .

The larger loneliness of our lives evolves from our unwillingness to spend ourselves, stir ourselves. We are always damping down our inner weather, permitting ourselves the comforts of postponement, of rehearsals

We are too kind, too willing--too unwilling too--reaching out blindly with a grasping hand but not knowing how to ask for what we don't even know we want.

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