I liked looking on at other people in crucial situations. If there was a road accident or a street fight or a baby pickled in a laboratory jar for me to look at, I'd stop and look so hard I never forgot it.

A little thing, like children putting flowers in my hair, can fill up the widening cracks in my self-assurance like soothing lanolin.

Stars open among the lilies. Are you not blinded by such expressionless sirens? This is the silence of astounded souls.

We know a thing by its opposite corollary; hot by having experienced cold; good by having decided what is bad; love by hate.

Why do we electrocute men for murdering an individual and then pin a purple heart on them for mass slaughter of someone arbitrarily labeled “enemy?

Ever since I was small I loved feeling somebody comb my hair. It made me go all sleepy & peaceful.

The constant struggle in mature life, I think, is to accept the necessity of tragedy and conflict, and not to try to escape to some falsely simple solution which does not include these more somber complexities.