The brain is a muscle of busy hills, the struggle of unthought things with things eternally thought.

I was brought up to be sympathetic toward others.

Beauty is a question of optics. All sight is illusion.

I can entertain the proposition that life is a metaphor for boxing--for one of those bouts that go on and on, round following round, jabs, missed punches, clinches, nothing determined, again the bell and again and you and your opponent so evenly matched it's impossible not to see that your opponent is you.... Life is like boxing in many unsettling respects. But boxing is only like boxing.

When you are writing literary writing, you are communicating something subtextual with emotions and poetry. The prose has to have a voice; it's not just typing. It takes a while to get that voice.

Impossible not to imagine the dead observing us. Our love for them a soft, shimmering gossamar that trails behind us.

Art is about freedom of expression, and should not be molded to fit any propaganda or lofty ideal.