Darkness was a presence. I learned to see in it, I learned to see through it, and I learned to see the darkness of my own.
Creativity is on the side of health - it isn't the thing that drives us mad; it is the capacity in us that tries to save us from madness.
Books, for me, are a home. Books don't make a home - they are one, in the sense that just as you do with a door, you open a book, and you go inside. Inside there is a different kind of time and space....
And myself? Observe me. There is something to be gained from my surface uses, and perhaps a little more from my lower depths, but my very bottom? That's where I am alone, the observer and the observed...
And love? I am still in love with her. Not a day breaks but that I think of her, and when the dogwood turns red in winter I stretch out my hands and imagine her hair. I am in love with her; not a fant...
It's true that heroes are inspiring but mustn't they also do some rescuing if they are to be worthy of their name? Would Wonder Woman matter if she only sent commiserating telegrams to the distressed...
The inside and the outside of our lives are each the shell where we learn to live.
What should I do about the wild and the tame? The wild heart that wants to be free, and the tame heart that wants to come home. I want to be held. I don't want you to come too close. I want you to sco...
The future is intact, still unredeemed, but the past is irredeemable. She is not who she thought she was.
So just you take care, what you think is the heart might well be another organ.
Our own front door can be a wonderful thing, or a sight we dread; rarely is it only a door.
No emotion is the final one.
Like most people, when I look back, the family house is held in time, or rather it is now outside of time, because it exists so clearly and it does not change, and it can only be entered through a doo...
It was Hell, if hell is where the life we love cannot exist.
It is a true saying, that what you fear you find.
I like being on my own better than I like anything else, but I can't give up love. Maybe it's the tension between longing and aloneness that I need. My own funicular railway, holding in balance the tw...
I have a head for heights it's true, but no stomach for the depths. Strange then to have plumbed so many.
As he turned inwards she turned outwards, but while he wore his intensity like a garment, she slept in hers.
Art is about the individual, the individual commitment not tethered to reward. For the maker, and later the reader or the viewer or the listener, there is no obvious reward. There is only the thing-in...
And you? Now that I have discovered you? Beautiful, dangerous, unleashed. Still I try to hold you, knowing that your body is faced with knives.