There's a moral force in a sentence when it comes out right. It speaks the writer's will to live.

No sense of the irony of human experience, that we are the highest form of life on earth, and yet ineffably sad because we know what no other animal knows, that we must die.

The power of the dead is that we think they see us all the time. The dead have a presence. Is there a level of energy composed solely of the dead? They are also in the ground, of course, asleep and crumbling. Perhaps we are what they dream.

If the world is where we hide from ourselves, what do we do when the world is no longer accessible? We invent a false name, invent a destiny, purchase a firearm through the mail.

Fear is self-awareness raised to a higher level.

The world is full of abandoned meanings. In the commonplace I find unexpected themes and intensities.

Only a catastrophe gets our attention. We want them, we depend on them. As long as they happen somewhere else.