To think is to be sick.

One cup poured into another makes different waters; tears shed by one eye would blind if wept into another's eye. The breast we strike in joy is not the breast we strike in pain; any man's smile would be consternation on another's mouth.

I couldn't ever boil potatoes over the heat of your affection. Your love would never bridge a gap; it wouldn't even fill up the hole that the mice came through.

Even the contemplative life is only an effort, Nora my dear, to hide the body so the feet won’t stick out.

I can draw and write, and you'd be foolish not to hire me.

One must not look inward too much, while the inside is yet tender. I do not wish to frighten myself until I can stand it.

I like my human experience served up with a little silence and restraint. Silence makes experience go further and, when it does die, gives it that dignity common to a thing one had touched and not ravished