I wanted to touch him, to tell him that even if everyone left everyone, I would never leave him, he talked and talked, his words fell through him, trying to find the floor to his sadness.

If the thrill of hunting were in the hunt, or even in the marksmanship, a camera would do just as well.

I did not need to know if he could love me. I needed to know if he could need me.

Think of the beginning of the story of the beginning of everything: Adam (without Eve and without divine guidance) names the animals. Continuing his work, we call stupid people bird-brained, cowardly people chickens, fools turkeys. Are these the best names we have to offer? If we can revise the notion of women coming from a rib, can’t we revise our categorizations of the animals that, draped with barbecue sauce, end up as the ribs on our dinner plates — or for that matter, the KFC in our hands?

I think and think and think, I‘ve thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it.

If it weren't my life, I wouldn't have believed it.

It can be challenge enough to have to eat with myself.