They passed out of the shade beneath the eaves and flew into sunglare and silence and it was an action she only partly saw, elusive and mutely beautiful, the birds so sunstruck they were consumed by light, disembodied, turned into something sheer and fleet and scatter-bright.

You live in a tower that soars to heaven and goes unpunished by God.

Talent is more erotic when it's wasted.

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

What we are reluctant to touch often seems the very fabric of our salvation.

The modern meaning of life's end-when does it end? How does it end? How should it end? What is the value of life? How do we measure it?

The writer is the person who stands outside society, independent of affiliation and independent of influence.