There Are No Inanimate Objects.

Grief Does Not End And Love Does Not Die And Nothing Fills Its Graven Place. With Grace, Pain Is Transmuted Into The Gold Of Wisdom And Compassion And The Lesser Coin Of Muted Sadness And Resignation; But Something Leaden Of It Remains, To Become The Kernel Arond Which More Pain Accretes (a Black Pearl): One Pain Becomes Every Other Pain ... Unless One Strips Away, One By One, The Layers Of Pain To Get To The Heart Of The Pain - And This Causes More Pain, Pain So Intense As To Feel Like Evisceration.

Children Hold Us Hostage; They Represent Our Commitment To The Future.

My Mother Was My First Jealous Lover.

Collecting Is Like Sex; Satisfaction Renews And Creates New Appetites.

The Best Work Is A Fusion Of Love And Praise.