You take a handful of rocks and put them in a jar. Then once a week, you take one tiny pebble out of the jar and throw it away. When the jar is empty, why, you'll just about be over your grief. ... Time alone will do if you're short on rocks.

Machines seem to sense that I am afraid of them. It makes them hostile.

Maybe staying single meant that you never had to grow up.

Boondocks' is simply the Tagalog word for mountains.

Cities are judged by their richest inhabitants and rural areas are judged

Life seems to be a choice between two wrong answers.

All babies are incoherent, but they grow up. That is the principle difference between an infant and a poet.