I Must Go Home Periodically To Renew

It Was Like They Waited To Tell Each Other Things That Had Never Been Told Before. What She Had To Say Was Terrible And Afraid. But What He Would Tell Her Was So True That It Would Make Everything All Right. Maybe It Was A Thing That Could Not Be Spoken With Words Or Writing. Maybe He Would Have To Let Her Understand This In A Different Way. That Was The Feeling She Had With Him.

The Human Heart Is A Lonely Hunter-but The Search For Us Southerners Is More Anguished.

The Writer Must Hew The Phantom Rock.

There's Nothing That Makes You So Aware Of The Improvisation Of Human Existence As A Song Unfinished. Or An Old Address Book.

There Is So Much Truth In Children And So Little Self-consciousness. It Always Strikes Me That They Are So Capable Of Losing And Finding Themselves And Also Losing And Finding Those Things They Feel Close To.