Love and anger are like land and sea: They meet at many different places.

Those who fear the imagination condemn it: something childish, they say, something monsterish, misbegotten. Not all of us dream awake. But those of us who do have no choice.

Love and anger are like land and sea: They meet at many different places.

I do not want to choose which one of you I must love or hate. Here, I am free to do neither. I want no part of your bitterness.

But even in the schoolyard I'd been aware of that silence, that reserve in him, as though he'd been raised by foxes and language was his second language.

There are no simple words. I don't know why I thought I could hide anything behind language.

Research the imagination. It was as obsolete as the appendix in most adults, except for those in whom, like the appendix, it became inflamed for no reason.