In the heat of her hands I thought, This is the campfire that mocks the sun. This place will warm me, feed me and care for me. I will hold on to this pulse against other rhythms. The world will come and go in the tide of a day but here is her hand with my future in its palm.

There is no discovery without risk and what you risk reveals what you value.

The continuous narrative of existence is a lie. There is no continuous narrative, there are lit-up moments, and the rest is dark.

Capacity for love in its higher forms seems to be peculiarly human although even in humans it is still peculiar.

Yes, the past is another country, but one that we can visit, and once there we can bring back the things we need.

With animal behavior, they're all fine until you introduce some rogue element into the cage, and then they go crazy.

I was happy but happy is an adult word. You don't have to ask a child about happy, you see it. They are or they are not. Adults talk about being happy because largely they are not. Talking about it is the same as trying to catch the wind. Much easier to let it blow all over you.