What we suffer, what we endure, what we muff, what we kill, what we miss, what we are guilty of, is done by us, as individuals, in private.

Perhaps this very instant is your time.

The measured blood beats out the year's delay.

A thousand kindnesses do not make up for a thousand blows.

Because language is the carrier of ideas, it is easy to believe that it should be very little else than such a carrier.

Women have no wilderness in them They are provident instead Content in the tight hot cell of their hearts To eat dusty bread.

I don't like quintessential certitude.