I’d like to go out in the front yard and shout something. “None of this is worth it!” That’s what I’d like people to hear.

The smooth stones you pick up and examine under the moon's light have been made blue from the sea. Next morning when you pull them from your trouser pocket, they are still blue.

This is awful. I don't know what's going to happen to me or to anyone else in the world.

Dreams, you know, are what you wake up from.

What do any of us really know about love?

The places where water comes together with other water. Those places stand out in my mind like holy places.

There is no answer. It's okay. But even if it wasn't okay, what am I supposed to do?