Part Of Me Is Made Of Glass,

What Is Literature, Really? Boiled Down To A Single Sentence, I'd Say It's This: An Endless Conversation About What It Means To Be Human. And To Read Literature Is To Engage In That Conversation.

...larger Than Life...i've Never Understood That Expression. What's Larger Than Life?

There's No Match For The Silence Of God.

I Used To Think That If I Had A Choice Between Writing Well And Living Well, I Would Choose The Former. But Now I Think That's Sheer Lunacy. Writing Weighs So Much Less, In The Great Cosmic Equation, Than Living.

Tell Me, Was I The Sort Of Person Who Took Your Elbow When Cars Passed On The Street, Touched Your Cheek While You Talked, Combed Your Wet Hair, Stopped By The Side Of The Road In The Country To Point Out Certain Constellations, Standing Behind You So That You Had The Advantage Of Leaning And Looking Up?