Freud is finished, Einstein's next.
Music is dangerous in so many ways. It's the most dangerous thing in the world.
Stories are consoling, fiction is one of the consolation prizes for having lived in the world.
People think about who they are in the stillest hour of the night. I carry this thought, the child's mystery and terror of this thought, I feel this immensity in my soul every second of my life.
Dying was just an extended version of Ash Wednesday.
In these night recitations we create a space between things as we felt them at the time and as we speak them now. This is the space reserved for irony, sympathy and fond amusement, the means by which we rescue ourselves from the past.