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

Of all the conditions we experience, solitude is perhaps the most misunderstood.

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

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.

Those partial to drink were hiding faults and dishonesty. They were sloppy souls, even the ones with pleasant manners and fine noses.

The man had added to his body in a way that was brave and timeless and beyond adornment.

There are stories told to him only at this time of year. Fantastic, magical stories, the old Hollier in the woods finding only three red berries, which peel back in the night to reveal gifts of frankincense, gold and myrrh, Christmas in hot deserts, dust-blown countries, the necklace of tears, and the story of the robin.