Sometimes there’s no one to listen to what you really might like to say at a certain moment. The paper always listens.

Because sometimes I live in a hurricane of words and not one of them can save me.

A boy told me if he roller-skated fast enough his loneliness couldn't catch up to him, the best reason I ever heard for trying to be a champion. What I wonder tonight pedaling hard down King William Street is if it translates to bicycles. A victory! To leave your loneliness panting behind you on some street corner while you float free into a cloud of sudden azaleas, pink petals that have never felt loneliness, no matter how slowly they fell.

Facts interest me less than the trailing smoke of stories.

Being good felt like a heavy coat, so I took it off.

Poetry calls us to pause. There is so much we overlook, while the abundance around us continues to shimmer, on its own.

My father was very disappointed by war and fighting. And he thought language could help us out of cycles of revenge and animosity. And so, as a journalist, he always found himself asking lots of questions and trying to gather information. He was always very clear to underscore the fact that Jewish people and Arab people were brother and sister.