“Life pulls softly inside your bindings. The pod glows – dear stench.”

Words bounce. Words, if you let them, will do what they want to do and what they have to do.

A man moves through time. It means nothing except that, like a harpoon, once thrown he will arrive.

One of the principle qualities of pain is that it demands an explanation.

Why does tragedy exist? Because you are full of rage. Why are you full of rage? Because you are full of grief.

Consider incompleteness as a verb.

Reality is a sound, you have to tune in to it not just keep yelling.

I am a drop of gold he would say I am molten matter returned from the core of earth to tell you interior things.

You doubt God? Well more to the point I credit God with the good sense to doubt me. What is mortality after all but divine doubt flashing over us? For an instant God suspends assent and poof! we disappear.

Simply do something else and return to it later to find the problem wasn’t a problem at all. Ruptures almost always lead to a stronger project.

To live past the end of your myth is a perilous thing.

Each night about this time he puts on sadness like a garment and goes on writing.

Comfortable means gradually more and more flattened down, more and more blunt – less and less sharp and biting into you.

Aristotle says that metaphor causes the mind to experience itself in the act of making a mistake.

Existence will not stop until it gets to beauty.

You can never know enough, never work enough, never use the infinitives and participles oddly enough, never impede the movement harshly enough, never leave the mind quickly enough.

Those nights lying alone are not discontinuous with this cold hectic dawn. It is who I am.

She is the storm and the rainbow that comes after.

The language of silence is the language of God, the language of silence is the language of the heart.

It is customary these days to ignore what should be done in favour of what pleases us.

You have eaten a meal dangerously seasoned.

Pleasant it to behold great encounters of warfare arrayed over the plains, with no part of yours in peril.

A hypocrite is the kind of politician who would cut down a redwood tree

It is not even a protection if it means nothing more than freedom to stagnate, to live without dreams

The true story of every person in this world is not the story you see, the external story. The true story of each person is the journey of his or her heart.