“We burned with love for ourselves, all of us, starters of the fire we suffered- our love was the affliction for which only our love was the cure.”

I imagine a line, a white line, painted on the sand and on the ocean, from me to you.

Every factory-farmed animal is, as a practice, treated in ways that would be illegal if it were a dog or a cat.

I never confused what I had with what I was.

Not responding is a response – we are equally responsible for what we don’t do.

The world is a big place,” he said, “but so is the inside of an apartment!

I was more alone than if I had been alone.

This is love, she thought, isn’t it? When you notice someone’s absence and hate that absence more than anything? More, even, than you love his presence?

I could not believe in a God that would challenge faith like this.

I dreamt four nights ago of clock hands descending from the universe like rain, of the moon as a green eye, of mirrors and insects, of a love that never withdrew. It was not the feeling of completeness that I so needed, but the feeling of not being empty.

I’d rather somebody hate what I do than be indifferent to it.

Also, I designed a pretty fascinating bracelet, where you put a rubber band around your favorite book of poems for a year, and then you take it off and wear it.

I felt shame for living in a nation of unprecedented prosperity-a nation that spends a smaller percentage of income on food than any other civilization has in human history-but in the name of affordability treats the animals it eats with cruelty so extreme it would be illegal if inflicted on a dog.

I put my hand on the doorknob because I thought maybe her hand was on the doorknob on the other side.

Every night before putting her to sleep, Yankel counts her ribs, as if one might have disappeared in the course of the day and become the seed and soil for some new companion to steal her away from him.

I woke up once in the middle of the night, and Buckminster’s paws were on my eyelids. He must have been feeling my nightmares.

I felt suddenly shy. I was not used to shy. I was used to shame. Shyness is when you turn your head away from something you want. Shame is when you turn your head away from something you do not want.

The cure for a fallacious argument is a better argument, not the suppression of ideas.

It is more necessary for the soul to be cured than the body; for it is better to die than to live badly.

The cure for pain is in the pain.

Selfishness must always be forgiven you know, because there is no hope of a cure.

Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul.

Friendship is the only cure for hatred, the only guarantee of peace.

Work could cure almost anything.

I can’t wake you up. You can wake you up. I can’t cure you. You can cure you.