Some days in late August at home are like this, the air thin and eager like this, with something in it sad and nostalgic and familiar.

You could do so much for me if you just would. If you just knew. I am I and you are you and I know it and you don't know it and you could do so much for me if you just would and if you just would then I could tell you and then nobody would have to know it except you and me.

Believe that man will not merely endure; he will prevail.

Don Quixote — I read that every year, as some do the Bible.

And I will look down and see my murmuring bones and the deep water like wind, like a roof of wind, and after a long time they cannot distinguish even bones upon the lonely and inviolate sand.

We have to start teaching ourselves not to be afraid.

In my opinion it's a shame that there is so much work in the world.