Music: what so many sentences aspire to be.

I believe in kindness. Also in mischief. Also in singing, especially when singing is not necessarily prescribed.

Every word is a messenger. Some have wings; some are filled with fire; some are filled with death.

The sea can do craziness, it can do smooth, it can lie down like silk breathing or toss havoc shoreward; it can give gifts or withhold all; it can rise, ebb, froth like an incoming frenzy of fountains, or it can sweet-talk entirely. As I can too, and so, no doubt, can you, and you.

If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don't hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happened better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that's often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don't be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.

Though I play at the edges of knowing, truly I know our part is not knowing, but looking, and touching, and loving

You want to cry aloud for your mistakes. But to tell the truth the world doesn't need any more of that sound.