You’ve been wondering lately when the moment is that somebody is truly lost to you.

I don't like novels that tie everything up in a plot-y way. I always think that's not really true of life, particularly of people in power.

People went through life like well handled jugs, collecting chips and scrapes and stains from wear and tear, from holding and pouring life.

I'll tell you this, lad: A tattoo says more of a fellow looking at it than it can do of the man who's got it on his back.

You’ve been wondering lately when the moment is that somebody is truly lost to you.

We should not forget that when we limp away afflicted through the spirit, it is not to the factory gates or to the corporate steps we pilgrimage. Instead we go to the sea for its salt. We find shade under the sycamores on the great avenues. Or we go to the rivers where water tells us modestly of its own sickness.

You didn’t understand what he was saying, until he kissed you. It was a kiss of such complicity, of such uncomplicated sympathy, that you felt for the first time not alone in your suffering.