What is the sound of an eighty-nine-year-old heart breaking?

I knew immediately something was terribly wrong, but you can know that and not allow the thought in your head, at the front of your head. It dances around at the back, where it can't be controlled. But the front of the head is where the pain begins.

After all the world is indeed beautiful and if we were any other creature than man we might be continuously happy in it.

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

I am old enough to know that time passing is just a trick, a convenience. Everything is always there, still unfolding, still happening. The past, the present, and the future, in the noggin eternally, like brushes, combs and ribbons in a handbag.

I thought if I was going to live a life in this land I was accidentally born on, I must people it; I must have a history. . .. I'm looking for these people inside me, wherever they may be; that is my form of research.