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

I believe death is only a door. One closes, and another opens. If I were to imagine heaven, I would imagine a door opening. And he would be waiting for me there.

We looked at each other for the last time; nothing is as eloquent as nothing.

Sometimes the fluffy bunny of incredulity zooms around the bend so rapidly that the greyhound of language is left, agog, in the starting cage.

I love HBO productions, actually, like 'The Wire.'

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

Trees're always a relief, after people.