In our age, if a boy or girl is untalented, the odds are in favor of their thinking they want to write.

(I measure time by how a body sways.)

In the kingdom of bang and blab.

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow. I feel my fate in what I cannot fear. I learn by going where I have to go.

The stones were sharp, The wind came at my back; Walking along the highway, Mincing like a cat.

I lose and find myself in the long water. I am gathered together once more.

Art is the means we have of undoing the damage of haste. It's what everything else isn't.