Our lives are not our own. We are bound to others, past and present, and by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future.

...there ain't no journey what don't change you some.

I'm not from a milieu where high-register language or philosophical ideas were welcome.

The earth's a door if you press your ear against it.

The soul is a verb." He impales a lit candle on a spike. "Not a noun.

Probably" is a word with an emergency ejector seat.

Beyond the Indian hamlet, upon a forlorn strand, I happened on a trail of recent footprints.