We see in others what we want and what we fear.
Royal Young's writing is that rare blend of irony and beauty.
We touched with a softness that pushed through the skin into memory, like arms plunged into a river - we could feel the weight of each other's stones.
Language is like looking at a map of somewhere. Love is living there and surviving on the land.
Actually, years mean nothing. It's what's inside them.
I tried to convey to the boy how people's lives are often altered by curved lines read slowly from paper, sand, or stone.