Ask yourself this question. Do we have to be humans forever? Consciousness is exhausted. Back now to inorganic matter. This is what we want. We want to be stones in a field.

To be a tourist is to escape accountability.

The world isn't going to be destroyed, but you don't feel safe anymore in your plane or train or office or auditorium.

He speaks in your voice, American, and there's a shine in his eye that's halfway hopeful.

I am ashamed every day, and more ashamed the next.

There are no amateurs in the world of children.

It was the time of year, the time of day, for a small insistent sadness to pass into the texture of things. Dusk, silence, iron chill. Something lonely in the bone.