... everyone knew that all islands were worlds unto themselves, that to come to an island was to come to another world.

In this world, where we find ourselves, we need compassion more than anything, I think, or we are all alone.

As many have noted, the peril for authors is that our work space is too easily our play space.

We salvage what we can, what truly matters to us, even at the gates of despair.

We are the total of our longings.

I will not say I am sorry, but I can tell you that I grieve.

One didn't stop to talk with creatures from one's nightmares.