Once I witnessed a windstorm so severe two 100-year-old trees were uprooted on the spot. The next day, walking among the wreckage, I found the friable nests of birds, completely intact and unharmed on the ground. That the featherweight survive the massive, that this reversal of fortune takes place among us — that is what haunts me. I don’t know what it means.

I hated childhood / I hate adulthood / And I love being alive.

Something unpronounceable followed by a long silence points out my life is becoming a landscape.

The words secret and sacred are siblings.

I remember being so young I thought all artists were famous.

My happiness is marred only by my failure to attain it.

Irreverence is a way of playing hooky and remaining present at the same time.