The problem with meditating is I generally go to sleep, and that's because I'm doing it wrong.

Your hand is a warm stone I hold between two words.

I'm working on my own life story. I don't mean I'm putting it together; no, I'm taking it apart.

What we share may be a lot like a traffic accident but we get one another. We are survivors of each other. We have been shark to one another, but also lifeboat. That counts for something.

The use of "religion" as an excuse to repress the freedom of expression and to deny human rights is not confined to any country or time.

Happiness is a garden walled with glass: there's no way in or out. In Paradise there are no stories, because there are no journeys. It's loss and regret and misery and yearning that drive the story forward, along its twisted road.

I hate to break this to you: One of these days I'm going to die. I expect that when I croak I'll no longer be using Twitter, unless I can do it from the grave.