I have the wonderful pleasure of finishing the book and closing it. And I don't read them later.

We're all surrounded by what I call faux language, fake language of commerce, of news media.

There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal.

I don't believe any real artists have ever been non-political. They may have been insensitive to this particular plight or insensitive to that, but they were political, because that's what an artist is-a politician.

Nothing could be taken for granted. Women who loved you tried to cut your throat, while women who didn't even know your name scrubbed your back. Witches could sound like Katharine Hepburn and your best friend could try to strangle you. Smack in the middle of an orchid there might be a blob of jello and inside a Mickey Mouse doll, a fixed and radiant star.

Sifting daylight dissolves the memory, turns it into dust motes floating in light.

I don't know whether the bird you are holding is dead or alive, but what I do know is that it is in your hands. It is in your hands.