How vast was a human being's capacity for suffering. The only thing you could do was stand in awe of it. It wasn't a question of survival at all. It was the fullness of it, how much could you hold, how much could you care.

They say drugs are not the answer, but really, what is the question?

I thought of my mother as Queen Christina, cool and sad, eyes trained on some distant horizon. That was where she belonged, in furs and palaces of rare treasures, fireplaces large enough to roast a reindeer, ships of Swedish maple.

We strive for beauty and balance, the sensual over the sentimental.

You can't shape me anymore. I am the uncontrolled element, the random act. I am forward movement in time. You think you can see me? Then tell me, who am I? You don't know.

A cliche is like a coin that has been handled too much. Once language has been overly handled, it no longer leaves a clear imprint.

No matter where I was, my compass pointed west. I would always know what time it was in California.