I feel terribly vulnerable and 'not-myself' when I'm not writing.

I wanted to crawl in between those black lines of print, the way you crawl through a fence, and go to sleep under that beautiful big green fig-tree.

God has to remind us this isn't heaven by a long shot, so he increases the radios and lethal flies.

I believe that one should be able to control and manipulate experiences, even the most terrific, like madness, being tortured, this sort of experience, and one should be able to manipulate these experiences with an informed and an intelligent mini.

I knew you'd decide to be all right again.

Well, I know now. I know a little more how much a simple thing like a snowfall can mean to a person

August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.