She Read Books As One Would Breathe

It Is Difficult To Undo Our Own Damage, And To Recall To Our Presence That Which We Have Asked To Leave. It Is Hard To Desecrate A Grove And Change Your Mind. The Very Holy Mountains Are Keeping Mum. We Doused The Burning Bush And Cannot Rekindle It; We Are Lighting Matches In Vain Under Every Green Tree.

The Way To Learn About A Writer Is To Read The Text. Or Texts.

The World Knew You Before You Knew The World.

What Is A House But A Bigger Skin, And A Neighborhood Map But The World's Skin Ever Expanding?

What I Call Innocence Is The Spirit's Unself-conscious State At Any Moment Of Pure Devotion To Any Object. It Is At Once A Receptiveness And Total Concentration.