Everyone Forgets Icarus Also Flew.

I Had Lived All Of My Youthful Dreams, But I Couldn't Think Of Many Adult Ones. I Finally Realized That We Don't Have Many Dreams For Adults Because, Historically, People Have Always Died Much Younger Than They Do Today.

What We Feel Most Has No Name But Amber, Archers, Cinnamon, Horses And Birds.

We Are All Burning In Time, But Each Is Consumed At His Own Speed.

Duende I Can't Remember Her Name. It's Not As Though I've Been In Bed With That Many Women. The Truth Is I Can't Even Remember Her Face. I Kind Of Know How Strong Her Thighs Were, And Her Beauty. But What I Won't Forget Is The Way She Tore Open The Barbecued Chicken With Her Hands, And Wiped The Grease On Her Breasts.

I Ask Myself What Is The Sound Of Women? What Is The Word For That Still Thing I Have Hunted Inside Them For So Long? Deep Inside The Avalanche Of Joy, The Thing Deeper In The Dark, And Deeper Still In The Bed Where We Are Lost. Deeper, Deeper Down Where A Woman's Heart Is Holding Its Breath, Where Something Very Far Away In That Body Is Becoming Something We Don't Have A Name For.