“Why are you leaving me? He wrote, I do not know how to live. I do not know either but I am trying. I do not know how to try. There were some things I wanted to tell him. But I knew they would hurt him. So i buried them and let them hurt me”

She said, “Do you have more things that you need, or more that you don’t need?” I said, “It depends on what it means to need.

In truth I was manufacturing a brick wall of shits.

It can be challenge enough to have to eat with myself.

Love me, because love doesn’t exist, and I have tried everything that does.

We could imagine all sorts of universes unlike this one, but this is the one that happened.

It’s the tragedy of loving, you can’t love anything more than something you miss.

Choosing leaf or flesh, factory farm or family farm, does not in itself change the world, but teaching ourselves, our children, our local communities, and our nation to choose conscience over ease can.

She was a genius of sadness, immersing herself in it, separating its numerous strands, appreciating its subtle nuances. She was a prism through which sadness could be divided into its infinite spectrum.

Sometimes people who seem good end up being not as good as you might have hoped, you know?

I missed you even when I was with you. That’s been my problem. I miss what I already have, and I surround myself with things that are missing.

Everything is to protect you. I exist in case you need to be protected.

We often use technology to save time, but increasingly, it either takes the saved time along with it, or makes the saved time less present, intimate and rich. I worry that the closer the world gets to our fingertips, the further it gets from our hearts.

I wasn’t trying to invent better and better homes, but to show her that homes didn’t matter, we could live in any home, in any city, in any country, in any century, and be happy, as if the world were just what we lived in.

It broke my heart into more pieces than my heart was made of, why can’t people say what they mean at the time?

I wish my days could be washed away like the chalk lines of my days.

Ironically, the utterly unselective omnivore — “I’m easy; I’ll eat anything” — can appear more socially sensitive than the individual who tries to eat in a way that is good for society.

Money is the root of all evil. Yeah, money is the root. It’s not racism and “this-ism” and “that-ism”; it’s our thirst and hunger for money. And that’s where all the bodies are buried.

Look inside yourself and you’ll find the answers that you’ve been searching for. It’s not buried in the opinions of anyone else.

Friendship must never be buried under the weight of misunderstanding.

Our true nature is like a precious jewel: although it may be temporarily buried in mud, it remains completely brilliant and unaffected. We simply have to uncover it.

Most people die at age 25 and are buried at age 65.

I should like to bury something precious in every place where I’ve been happy and then, when I’m old and ugly and miserable, I could come back and dig it up and remember.

If there is no love more in yonder heart, it is but a corpse unburied.

Your magic is too golden, too sky-opening, too hearts-bursting to be buried quietly away.