I worked probably 25 years by myself, just writing and working, not trying to publish much, not giving readings.

And now you'll be telling stories of my coming back and they won't be false, and they won't be true but they'll be real

The god of dirt came up to me many times and said so many wise and delectable things, I lay on the grass listening to his dog voice, frog voice; now, he said, and now, and never once mentioned forever from, One or Two Things

Today again I am hardly myself. It happens over and over.

We do not love anything more deeply than we love a story.

Everybody has to have their little tooth of power. Everybody wants to be able to bite.

It's morning, and again I am that lucky person who is in it.