It is easy to take away the world that we think is so permanent and reliable.

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.

Our tribe unraveled like a coarse rope, frayed at either end as the old and new among us were taken.

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

But then as time passed, I learned the lesson that parents do early on. You fail sometimes. No matter how much you love your children, there are times you slip. There are moments you can't give, stutter, lose your temper, or simply lose face with the world, and you can't explain this to a child.

How come we've got these bodies? They are frail supports for what we feel. There are times I get so hemmed in by my arms and legs I look forward to getting past them. As though death will set me free like a traveling cloud... I'll be out there as a piece of the endless body of the world feeling pleasures so much larger than skin and bones and blood.

To love another another human in all of her splendor and imperfect perfection , it is a magnificent task...tremendous and foolish and human.