A life like an intricately woven basket, frayed, worn, broken, unraveled, reworked, reknit from many of its original pieces... Life can survive in the constant shadow of illness, and even rise to moments of rampant joy, but the shadow remains, and one has to make space for it.

Love is the best school, but the tuition is high and the homework can be painful.

The knowing, I told myself, is only a vapor of the mind, and yet it can wreck havok with one's sanity.

For if I do something, I never do it thoughtlessly.

For me, life offers so many complexly appealing moments that two beautiful objects may be equally beautiful for different reasons and at different times. How can one choose?

What an odd, ruminating, noisy, self-interrupting conversation we conduct with ourselves from birth to death.

I try to give myself passionately, totally, to whatever I'm observing, with as much affectionate curiosity as I can muster, as a means of understanding a little better what being human is.