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.

I spend my time dwelling on revenge and try to deal with the monsters crawling out of the ashes.

Society is like this card game here, cousin. We got dealt our hand before we were even born, and as we grow we have to play as best as we can.

Old love, middle love, the kind of love that knows itself and knows that nothing lasts, is a desperate shared wildness.

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

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

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