I am here, alone, at the end of the world. I reach out and touch nothing.”.

Have your dream...What you need now more than anything is discipline. Cast off mere words. Words turn into stone. (from Thailand)

Somewhere in his body--perhaps in the marrow of his bones--he would continue to feel her absence.

I can be hurt, you know. I can get as exhausted as anybody else. I can feel so bad I want to cry, too.

The grounds of the place were dominated by several large, old willow trees that towered over the surrounding stone wall and swayed soundlessly in the wind like lost souls.

If writing novels is like planting a forest, then writing short stories is more like planting a garden.

Is action merely the incidental product of thought, or is thought the consequential product of action?