A small town is nothing but eyes and gaping maw; it pecks at its own like a flock of vicious birds.

How does one craft happiness out of something as important, as complicated, as unrepeatable and as easily damaged as life?

Words on the page are never prisoners of the page

Love is like moonlight or thunder, or rain on a tin roof in the middle of the night; it is one of those things in life that is truly worth knowing.

Let me fly, let me see things that are hidden from other eyes.

I am dying: it's a beautiful word. Like the long slow sigh of the cello: dying. But the sound of it is the only beautiful thing about it.

Affection makes fools. Always, without exception, love digs a channel that's sooner or later flooded by the briny water of despair.