Sunday evenings are heavier than clouds with rain, darker too and often interminable.

I make no apology about stirring the depths - every human longs to swim under water and see what lurks beneath

When we perfect 3-D copiers and they reproduce tissue, we'll have a million Marilyns walking around with no souls.

You can be angry and silent, but it's no use - there's no distance in the spirit - besides, my words touch you more softly than my hands.

The winter is kind and leaves red berries on the boughs for hungry sparrows.

I love it when the dark bottle of night spills out, and the Moon writes in chalk about us.

Freshly cut Christmas trees smelling of stars and snow and pine resin - inhale deeply and fill your soul with wintry night.