The writer's first affinity is not to a loyalty, a tradition, a morality, a religion, but to life itself, and to its representation in language.
Towns change; they grow or diminish, but hometowns remain as we left them.
Love is the outlaw's duty.
Smoke veils the air like souls in drifting suspension, declining the war's insistence everyone move on.
I wish I had more time to write.
Literature can teach us how to live before we live, and how to die before we die. I believe that writing is practice for death, and for every (other) transformation human beings encounter.