She doesn't understand that doors, walls, fences, ceilings - they're helpless to keep out what determinedly desires to get in.

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.

Strange how love coexists with hate, how they render eachother mute, how the swilling of them together makes a new and softer, sympathetic thing.

I would always be lonely, but no more alone.