I Grew Up Sort Of Middle Class,

Stories Are There To Be Told, And Each Story Changes With The Telling. Time Changes Them. Logic Changes Them. Grammar Changes Them. History Changes Them. Each Story Is Shifted Side-ways By Each Day That Unfolds. Nothing Ends. The Only Thing That Matters, As Faulkner Once Put It, Is The Human Heart In Conflict With Itself. At The Heart Of All This Is The Possibility, Or Desire, To Create A Piece Of Art That Talks To The Human Instinct For Recovery And Joy.

He Told Me Once That There Was No Better Faith Than A Wounded Faith And Sometimes I Wonder If That Is What He Was Doing All Along --trying To Wound His Faith In Order To Test It--and I Was Just Another Stone In The Way Of His God.

You Cannot Read Any Image Of The World Trade Center Without Thinking Of 9/11.

Part Of Me Really Wants To Believe That Hope Is Entirely Available To All Of Us. We Don't Have To Embrace It. It Would Be Sentimental And Silly To Say That We All Need It, But It Is Absolutely Available To All Of Us.

Yet She Likes Complications. She Wishes She Could Turn And Say: I Like People Who Unbalance Me.