Our songs travel the earth. We sing to one another. Not a single note is ever lost and no song is original. They all come from the same place and go back to a time when only the stones howled.

Time is the water in which we live, and we breathe it like fish. ... Time pours into us and then pours out again. In between the two pourings we live our destiny.

Numbers, time, inches, feet. All are just ploys for cutting nature down to size.

It was just enough to sit there without words.

When every inch of the world is known, sleep may be the only wilderness that we have left.

I knew each person's delusion, the places their records had scratched, where the sounds repeated.

We passed over in a sweep of sorrow that would persist into our small forever. We just keep going.