If people knew the story of their lives how many would then elect to live them? People speak about what is in store. But there is nothing in store. The day is made of what has come before. The world itself must be surprised at the shape of that which appears. Perhaps even God.

They rode on and the sun in the east flushed pale streaks of light and then a deeper run of color like blood seeping up in sudden reaches flaring planewise and where the earth drained up into the sky at the edge of creation the top of the sun rose out of nothing like the head of a great red phallus until it cleared the unseen rim and sat squat and pulsing and malevolent behind them.

Usually, you don't know where a book comes from ... it's just there, some kind of an itch that you can't quite scratch.

Pain for the old was no longer a surprise.

Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real.

I guess you ought to be careful about cussin the dead. I would say at the least there probably ain't no luck in it.

When one has nothing left make ceremonies out of the air and breathe upon them.