There are people who are always, I think, going to remain people of the book, to use another author's title, but people of the book, who really must be around.

Here I am, where I ought to be. A writer must have a place where he or she feels this, the place to love and be irritated with.

People forget the good, because the bad has more punch.

So what is wild? What is wilderness? What are dreams but an internal wilderness and what is desire but a wildness of the soul?

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.

Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won't either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart.

Every so often something shatters like ice and we are in the river of our existence. We are aware.