Death is by no means separate from life. . . . We all interact with death every day, tasting it as we might a wine, feeling its keen edge even in trifling losses and disappointments, holding it by the hand, as a dancer might a partner, in every separation.

Mercy is a source of life because we breathe our own spirits through it into the lives of others.

There are times when silence is the most sacred of responses.

The real test of friendship is can you literally do nothing with the other person? Can you enjoy those moments of life that are utterly simple?

The future is religion and commerce, aphrodisiac and Benzedrine, a mother of mysterious comfort and a mistress of familiar ravishments ever on the verge of embracing or destroying us.

We not only romanticize the future; we have also made it into a growth industry, a parlor game and a disaster movie all at the same time.

Is childhood ever long enough, or a happy time, or even a beautiful summer day? All of these carry the seeds of the same fierce mystery that we call death.