I couldn't speak well. I went to speech therapy for 10 years. And I was sort of frustrated in that sense.

But now, like a fallen sparrow On a golden chain, I'm forever bound in shadow, A prisoner to my pain.

I know I'm tired of thinking about what I should have done yesterday. I know I'm just tired. If I knew what to do with my life, how to fix it up, I would have done it a long time ago. You can't dig that? You think I want to live like I'm somebody's throwaway?

The best time to cry is at night, when the lights are out and someone is being beaten up and screaming for help.

What I do with my books is to create windows to my world that all may peer into. I share the images, the feelings and thoughts, and, I hope, the delight.

I talk to myself out loud at times, and feel embarrassed when people overhear me.

But in the end, we learn we can forgive most people. The cushion of mortality makes their wrongdoing seem less dark, and whatever roads they traveled seem less foolhardy.