I was in love with the whole world and all that lived in its rainy arms.

I got well by talking. Death could not get a word in edgewise, grew discouraged, and traveled on.

Here I am, where I ought to be. A writer must have a place where he or she feels this, a place to love and be irritated with.

Columbus only discovered that he was in some new place. He didn't discover America.

Love won't be tampered with, love won't go away. Push it to one side and it creeps to the other.

It was enough just to sit there without words.

You know, some people fall right through the hole in their lives. It's invisible, but they come to it after time, never knowing where.