The hard surface of the stone is impervious to nothing in the end. The heat of the sun leaves evidence of daylight. Each drop of rain changes the form; even the wind and the air itself, invisible to our eyes, etches its presence. … All history is taken in by stones.

Telling a story of illness, one pulls a thread through a narrow opening flanked on one side by shame and the other by trivia.

Far more frightening than the thought of dying was the experience of erasure already occurring in my life. My fear of becoming someone who did not count.

But still, the other voice, the intuitive, returns, like grass forcing its way through concrete.

Philosophy means nothing unless it is connected to birth, death, and the continuance of life. Anytime you are going to build a society that works, you have to begin from nature and the body.

Society, like nature, is one body, really.

There is always a time to make right what is wrong.