It's possible, in a poem or short story, to write about commonplace things and objects using commonplace but precise language, and to endow those things—a chair, a window curtain, a fork, a stone, a woman's earring—with immense, even startling power.

I'm always learning something. Learning never ends.

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.

Nights without beginning that had no end. Talking about a past as if it'd really happened. Telling themselves that this time next year, this time next year, things were going to be different.

There was this funny thing of anything could happen now that we realized everything had.

there isn't enough of anything as long as we live. But at intervals a sweetness appears and, given a chance prevails.

You've got to work with your mistakes until they look intended. Understand?