There is no salvation anywhere. The idea of salvation implies the idea of an absolute.

There it is: I am gently slipping into the water's depths, towards fear.

I have changed as everyone changes: within a permanency.

Ha! to forget. How childish! I feel you in my bones. Your silence screams in my ears. You may nail your mouth shut, you may cut out your tongue, can you keep yourself from existing? Will you stop your thoughts.

He loves me, he doesn't love my bowels, if they showed him my appendix in a glass he wouldn't recognize it, he's always feeling me, but if they put the glass in his hands he wouldn't touch it, he wouldn't think, "that's hers," you ought to love all of somebody, the esophagus, the liver, the intestines. Maybe we don't love them because we aren't used to them, but if we saw them the way we saw our hands and arms maybe we'd love them; the starfish must love each other better than we do.

Commitment is an act, not a word.

I'd come to realize that all our troubles spring from our failure to use plain, clear-cut language.