Everyone who’s born has come from the sea. Your mother’s womb is just a sea in small. And birds come of seas on eggs. Horses lie in the sea before they’re born. The placenta is the sea. Your blood is the sea continued in your veins. We are the ocean — walking on the land.

He said that in a way being loved is like being told you never have to die.

I still maintain that an ordinary human being has the right to be horrified by a mangled body seen on an afternoon walk.

Complaints about reality are immature.

There are no beginnings, not even to stories. There are only places where you make an entrance into someone else's life and either stay or turn and go away.

They waited. The door did not open. The rain did not stop. The darkness made a tent and covered them completely.

The spaces between the perceiver and the thing perceived can [...] be closed with a shout of recognition.