Elizabeth's voice had a door in it. When you opened that door you found another door, and that door opened yet another door. All the doors were nice and led out of her.

For fear you will be alone you do so many things that aren't you at all.

I drank coffee and read old books and waited for the year to end.

Sometimes life is merely a matter of coffee and whatever intimacy a cup of coffee affords.

He learned about life at sixteen, first from Dostoevsky and then from the whores of New Orleans.

Hinged to forgetfulness like a door, she slowly closed out of sight, and she was the woman I loved, but too many times she slept like a mechanical deer in my caresses, and I ached in the metal silence of her dreams.

I'm in a constant process of thinking about things.