I think she is confused by the way I want her, which is like nobody else. I know this deep down. I want her in a new way, a way she's never been told about.

Cold sinks in, there to stay. And people, they'll leave you, sure. There's no return to what was and no way back. There's just emptiness all around, and you in it, like singing up from the bottom of a well, like nothing else, until you harm yourself, until you are a mad dog biting yourself for sympathy. Because there is no relenting.

The Internet, which seems now so embedded and personal and crucial to our lives, isn't at all - we really shouldn't think of it that way.

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

I did not choose solitude. Who would? It came on me like a kind of vocation, demanding an effort that married women can't picture.

By writing I can live in ways that I could not survive.

The length of sky is just about the size of my ignorance. Pure and wide.