…it’s not the medium that’s the message – it’s consciousness – the wonder of being able to wonder …

…in January, everything seems desolate. The Moon ascends to cold heights – and I, a ragged sky filled with dark kisses…lie abandoned by you…

the fragrance of pine resin is frankincense poured out—a balm of stars and snow and moonlit nights

…there is a myth called objective reality – we think an impersonal world exists apart from us – it doesn’t – it needs us to be …

… the scarlet thread,the red clay from which we were made, runs in tiny streams through all our veins, reminding us of where we began…

…is the writer a prophet or priest – does he show the truth or serve the truth?…

You don’t read to exercise the mind but to take voyages

…I don’t want security – to be self-assured – I want to risk my heart in making your portrait and be paid the wages of your devotion…

…is worship too strong a word? yes, I worship you – to worship is to give worth to something – isn’t that what love is all about?…

…a passing face together with his grief turned you into a weeping Madonna…

…goodness is not the absence of evil – it’s the light that pushes back the darkness…

…we went to watch the waves that bitter day and the wind took your red cap and mittens – blew them into the sea…

…what makes a writer a prophet is his ability to speak truth…

…Myths aren’t fairy tales or legends—they’re an honest attempt to explain mysteries…

…writing with ferocity is a gift, provided that ferocity is a monomaniacal devotion to pursuing the truth …

fingers of wind combed the lake into ridges—icy palm prints glistened wherever it rested

…yes, I am your priest, your magician, your lover – I make charms to incant your presence…

…dark furrow lines grid the snow, punctuated by orange abacus beads of pumpkins – now the crows own the field…

…I retreat into my fictional world where everything makes sense – but even there I can’t even control what people do…

…you can be angry and silent, but it’s no use – there’s no distance in the spirit – besides, my words touch you more softly than my hands…

…you either forgive a lover for abandoning you or you forgive God for taking them – either way you have to forgive…

…we fear monsters because we fear the dark parts of ourselves…

…How terrible, those dreams before sleep were—the worse kind, mixing hope with despair…

…Tolstoy said, happiness is an allegory, unhappiness a story – then what does that make us?…

…when the room goes silent, someone has spoken with authority…

…Moonlight possesses no alchemy to transmute good motives to base, but it does excite love magic…

…I can think of other forms of worship than loving you, but none that make me feel so fulfilled…

…some nights I’d sneak out and listen to the radio in my Dad’s old Chevy – children need solitude – they don’t teach that in school…

…everything is gone except traces of you inside me – and the years like the wind are sweeping those away …

…freshly cut Christmas trees smelling of stars and snow and pine resin – inhale deeply and fill your soul with wintry night…

December’s wintery breath is already clouding the pond, frosting the pane, obscuring summer’s memory…

…everything I treasure is broken – it’s of no use to anybody but me…

…when someone is honest and vulnerable, they wring my heart – I want to hug them for being real…

…cities are murky places – hatching grounds for monsters…

…once I saw you in moonlight and I can tell you – the silvery dust of the stars doesn’t shimmer like you…

From the moment I saw you, I wanted you in my dreams

…some of the best love poems have been written by monks and nuns…

…some writers closet themselves – I write wherever I am because that’s where life is happening …

I love it when the dark bottle of night spills out, and the Moon writes in chalk about us

… your heart is your soul twinkling in the black firmament inside you…

…being with you was so easy and natural – there was no strain – I never had to guard my words…

…When people lose their way and lack a real purpose for living they often fall back on certain forms of escapism as a form of self-soothing…

…evil fascinates and repels us – it’s a terrible beauty that enthralls us the more we stare into it…

…strands of your hair and tendrils of the wind spin into nothingness the memories of that day…

…when you’re a writer, you become deeper and more uniquely distinct, the more you go inside yourself…

…what is the meaning of La Belle Dame Sans Merci? – have you never been enthralled? enchantment that is unrequited desolates the soul…

…you called me poet-priest – I am. …devoted to my art, faithful to you…or, is the other way around?…

…you are not what you seem – you’re a Sylph – you leave and the air retains your image – you haunt me…

…when I met you, you were so beautiful, the air around you vibrated with color …

…my heart is a desolate field over which geese vee, the sky turns and the days lie fallow…