…you think so logically…like a hawk soaring – I feel so chaotically…like a kite without a tail plummeting to earth…

…I hear the sounds of melting snow outside my window every night and with the first faint scent of spring, I remember life exists…

… my early writing was a silent fury – at what or whom, I had no idea – but I shut it in until it burned my bones and now, I’ve let it out…

after life has broken you open, perhaps you may create art

…there’s the suffering from love and the suffering from grief – either pain permanently scars the soul…

…everyone wants to be excited by something magical and wondrous – to be reminded of how they once saw the world …

I am a bed of sparks you breathe upon and kindle

…people quote proverbs without realizing they’re really in awe of the authority of their truth and the power of their expression…

…here’s what I’ve learned – people will hurt you, but you don’t have to respond – not every mean comment or cruel act deserves to be noticed …

Last night, lost in spaces between star—bays and lakes of clouds, I tossed and turned looking for you

…when we perfect 3-D copiers and they reproduce tissue, we’ll have a million Marilyns walking around with no souls…

…I lost my illusions in a black rain of bitterness – now what do you see in my eyes? How can you still love me? How can I be tender? …

…you need to travel to see the ocean – I don’t need the ocean – I have the sky…

You can be taught to write – you can’t be taught to be an artist

…I’m not in control and without a firm spot, like Archimedes I can’t move the world – let alone your heart..

…when I think of you it’s with tears, because no one else has such delicate hands that can reach into my soul and calm my fears…

the heart aches through nights—the broken places of neglect

when I see you, I see mystery – a pale moon’s beauty behind a veil of cloud

…before you, life was desolate – the past hardly worth remembering – and now, each moment a keepsake I can’t throw away …

…consider yourself a functional character in someone else’s novel – a background character – a person on the street – that’s the perspective …

…when you look at the stars, you should tremble – only dullards have become callous to this frisson …

…surely by now you must know: It’s love; it’s love—but will there ever be good news?…

we compose our life in stories we tell ourselves

…I’m constantly agitated, restless – I work moments like worry beads until I see your face…

…how many writers still dare compare a woman to Nature, like Campion? – there is a garden in her face – how lovely…

He heard her in his heart – whispering from the mist

…why is my cat a Muse? the cat has the rare grace of never saying a word too much― Mark Twain …that’s why …

…the answer is not in the damn blank page – it’s in the days or years before and you have to dredge it up – exhume the past again …

…people demonize certain types of crime – it’s a way of distancing ourselves from the monsters…

…my dreams are tangled in images of stars and clouds and firelight – we go camping at night – it’s my lucid dream of being with you…

…I got to love solitude – to see the Moon rise and set – I had time to watch it trace the window square across the wall in silent grace…

…you mean you don’t fit characters into a plot? excatly…

…dark embers smolder inside me – one touch and they flare – who would have thought memory combustible, or near you bright sparks appear?…

…I make no apology about stirring the depths – every human longs to swim under water and see what lurks beneath …

…there’s something magical about a mask, but I have never worn one – I want you to see my pain and know how your love affects me…

….you were a jumble of broken bits of glass the sun caught and stained my soul with your colors….

you cross the field in the snow leaving tracks in perfect whiteness …disturbing my placid universe…marking the landscape within me …

…I live in Ireland every day in a drizzly dream of a Dublin walk…

…bow to genius, but to the authority of that genius – not the display of talent…

Light a campfire and everyone’s a storyteller

…skeins of mist like translucent silk, bending and unbending in the headlight tunnels…

Your window square a yellow kite, and the Moon a white balloon

…if you don’t regard your word as a sacred covenant, then there is nothing in you I can honor …

…Everyone struggles to guard their heart from breaking, when they should desire to have a heart that breaks…

you cannot teach art—you cannot make a soul

…true love is an irrevocable act – you can only give your heart away once – after that, you give as much as you have left …

…there is no map of the soul because we make it up as we go…

…you must never partly love or stop half way – because then, you become superficial and cannot be deeply hurt or loved…

…I’ve discovered why you fascinate – you keep the mystery and as Carlyle noted, Wonder is the basis of worship…

…every time I look at you autumn leaves come in between – does it matter they’re the color of your hair – or they still fall in my memory?…