There were periods during my childhood when I stammered so badly I couldn't talk at all.

Silence is exhilarating at first - as noise is - but there is a sweetness to silence outlasting exhilaration, akin to the sweetness of listening and the velvet of sleep.

Poetry is engendered in solitude, so what better meter for it than the clip of a buckskin horse?

To live is to see, and traveling sometimes speeds up the process.

Men greet each other with a sock on the arm, women with a hug, and the hug wears better in the long run.

True solitude is a din of birdsong, seething leaves, whirling colors, or a clamor of tracks in the snow.

There aren't many irritations to match the condescension which a woman metes out to a man who she believes has loved her vainly for the past umpteen years.