I know of witches who whistle at different pitches, calling things that don't have names.

Home is where your teapots are.

Because he says he can't stand you and you act like you can't stand him, and whenever a man and a woman behave like that toward each other, it usually means something's going on.

And she walked away, and she walked away, and that was that, and that was that.

The language of [Catholic] mysticism - its repeated attempts to lay consciousness itself bare and speak all the intensely opposing yet interconnected parts of it that cannot be spoken.

Wanderer, there is no road, the road is made by walking. The poem tells me it’s no big deal that I’m not like Snow. I can be another thing; I’m meant to be another thing.

This was a little house, with a ceiling that kept getting higher and higher, a hot place with no windows. This was anger.