Truth be told, there is not one day that goes by when I don't fall in love with someone, with something.

One of the strangest things about writing well is that it requires two different zones in the brain--rigor and recklessness--simultaneously.

How I love them. How good they are. They endure endless hours of me talking about the future. They keep me near and at the same time bid me farewell. That is what real love is.

But sometimes even the sky is dangerous. I look up and see your face in the stars.

It's an honor and privilege to be next to the great mysteries, and that's what I get to do every day. Why are we here? How beautiful the Earth is. Whatever it is, large and small. There's so much that's beautiful and moving and sad, to experience that and find shapes for it, to deeply enter that meditative space. There's nothing like it. Everything else seems so pale.

The future will be gorgeous and reckless, and words, those luminous charms, will set us free again.

Huddled around the fire of the alphabet.