I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full.

Perhaps some day I’ll crawl back home, beaten, defeated. But not as long as I can make stories out of my heartbreak, beauty out of sorrow.

Well, I know now. I know a little more how much a simple thing like a snowfall can mean to a person

I have never found anybody who could stand to accept the daily demonstrative love I feel in me, and give back as good as I give.

What I fear most, I think, is the death of the imagination.

The still watersWrap my lips,Eyes, nose and ears,A clearCellophane I cannot crack.

I can’t deceive myself that out of the bare stark realization that no matter how enthusiastic you are, no matter how sure that character is fate, nothing is real, past or future, when you are...

I’m not sure why it is, but I love food more than just about anything else.

The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.

You will never win anyone through pity. You must create the right kind of dream, the sober, adult kind of magic: illusion born from disillusion.