Open the book. (The gilt rubs off the edges of the pages and pollinates the fingertips.)

I've never written the things I'd like to write that I've admired all my life. Maybe one never does.

Icebergs behoove the soul (both being self-made from elements least visible) to see themselves: fleshed, fair, erected, indivisible.

What childishness is it that while there's breath of life in our bodies, we are determined to rush to see the sun the other way around?

Insomnia" perhaps she's a daytime sleeper.

The whole shadow of Man is only as big as his hat.

But he sleeps on the top of his mast with his eyes closed tight. The gull inquired into his dream, which was, "I must not fall. The spangled sea below wants me to fall. It is hard as diamonds; it wants to destroy us all.