Because faithfulness is not a human question, but a divine one.

A beard on a man is only a way of hiding something, his face of course, but also the inner matters, like a hedge around a secret garden, or a cover over a bird cage.

I haven't really written my plays and books - I've heard them. The stories are there already, singing in your genes and in your blood.

Because it strikes me there is something greater than judgement. I think it is called mercy.

It had been a war of kingly poisons, in the air, in the memory, in the blood.

The human animal began as a mere wriggling thing in the ancient seas, struggling out onto land with many regrets. That is what brings us so full of longing to the sea.

It is funny, but it strikes me that a person without anecdotes that they nurse while they live, and that survive them, are more likely to be utterly lost not only to history but the family following them. Of course this is the fate of most souls, reducing entire lives, no matter how vivid and wonderful, to those sad black names on withering family trees, with half a date dangling after and a question mark.