any compulsion tries to justify itself.

Aging and its evidence remain lifes most predictable events, yet they also remain matters we prefer to leave unmentioned, unexplored.

I ... have another cup of coffee with my mother. We get along very well, veterans of a guerrilla war we never understood.

We all have the same dreams.

The fancy that extraterrestrial life is by definition of a higher order than our own is one that soothes all children, and many writers.

What does it cost to lose those weeks, that light, the very nights in the year preferred over all others? Can you evade the dying of the brightness? Or do you evade only its warning? Where are you left if you miss the message the blue nights bring?

What makes Iago evil? Some people ask. I never ask.