Why I'm not where you are ...

I want to talk about God in a literary way. But I think I would have a very hard time praying to God.

Love me, because love doesn't exist, and I have tried everything that does.

I often think about how my sons will come to know about September 11th. Something overheard? A newspaper image? In school? I would prefer that they learn about it from my wife and me, in a deliberate and safe way. But it's hard to imagine ever feeling ready to broach the subject without some impetus.

I tried to think about other things. I tried to invent optimistic inventions. But the pessimistic ones were extremely loud.

If nothing matters, there's nothing to save.

That’s all anyone wants from anyone else, not love itself but the knowledge that love is there.