I'm not senile," I snapped. "If I burn the house down it will be on purpose.
When things are really dismal, you can laugh, or you can cave in completely.
poetry is where the language is renewed.
Nature is to zoos as God is to churches.
My brother and I were both good at science, and we were both good at English literature. Either one of us could have gone either way.
But my dreaming self refuses to be consoled. It continues to wander, aimless, homeless, alone. It cannot be convinced of its safety by any evidence drawn from my waking life.