Animals never worry about Heaven or Hell. Neither do I. Maybe that's why we get along.

there must be a way. surely there must be a way that we have not yet thought of. who put this brain inside of me? it cries it demands it says that there is a chance. it will not say "no.

The wisdom to quit is all we have left.

Bad luck for the young poet would be a rich father, an early marriage, an early success or the ability to do anything well.

there was something about that city, though it didn't let me feel guilty that I had no feeling for the things so many others needed. it let me alone.

dogs and angels are not very far apart

I went to the bathroom and threw some water on my face, combed my hair. If I could only comb that face, I thought, but I can't.