I Am Haunted By Waters.

As For My Father, I Never Knew Whether He Believed God Was A Mathematician But He Certainly Believed God Could Count And That Only By Picking Up God's Rhythms Were We Able To Regain Power And Beauty. Unlike Many Presbyterians, He Often Used The Word "beautiful.

Yet Even In The Loneliness Of The Canyon I Knew There Were Others Like Me Who Had Brothers They Did Not Understand But Wanted To Help. We Are Probably Those Referred To As "our Brother's Keepers," Possessed Of One Of The Oldest And Possible One Of The Most Futile And Certainly One Of The Most Haunting Instincts. It Will Not Let Us Go.

When Exhausted And Feeling Sorry For Yourself, At Least Change Your Socks.

...life Every Now And Then Becomes Literature...as If Life Had Been Made And Not Happened.

Slowly We Became Silent, And Silence Itself If An Enemy To Friendship.