It’s your life, not your death, that defines you.

They rode through the quiet streets. The rain had stopped and an early morning mist fell around them under the streetlights. Victor remembered that his ancestors had believed this was a magical time when the...

Eva walked along the wall that held all of Michael’s books. Shelves of science texts – physics, astronomy, a full set of Darwin’s writings, new works in biomedical genetics – these were at the bottom,...

The dream world is the last wilderness, vast and unknowable.

The dream is the exclusive property of the dreamer.

I hear the trees whispering sometimes. They don’t talk to everyone. Or maybe they do, but not everyone listens. Do you hear them?

The ancient trees are the deep earth’s language for speaking to the universe. The earth communicates through trees to the animals and to the birds living above – and to the very heavens. The trees...

For people with patience, time with a dog is a little slice of heaven.

I love opera. Si. But I am old. No passion in my life, you know? I work, I walk slowly now through my years…but opera! I see, I hear that passion, Eva. Is like the...

The beauty of writing is imagining new endings to a time of darkness, like burning off a morning fog with the heat and clarity of the sun.

She listens to the delicate fluttering of sparrows’ wings, tiny messengers. The sound reminds her of life – struggling, beating, rising, flying, and now dissolving into space.

Daniel’s desk by the window is piled high with his drawings. The artwork is everything. He thinks of himself as the act of drawing. His body of work is his life, it is his continuity....