I Am Who I Choose To Be.

There Was No Limit To What One Man Might Do, If He Gave All, And Held Back Nothing.

There Is A Sad Disconnectedness That Overcomes A Library When Its Owner Is Gone.

Not That I Haven't Leaped Up Into The Blinding Light Of Competence Now And Then. It's Sustaining The Altitude That Defeats Me.

Seems Like Half My Anxiety Dreams Are About Airports.

His Outflung Hands Traced Over The Threads Of His Rug, Passed Loop By Loop Through Some Patient Woman's Hands. Or Maybe She Hadn't Been Patient. Maybe She'd Been Tired, Or Irritated, Or Distracted, Or Hungry, Or Angry. Maybe She Had Been Dying. But Her Hands Had Kept Moving, All The Same.