Surviving Means Being Born Over And Over.

My Mother Wanted Me To Be Her Wings, To Fly As She Never Quite Had The Courage To Do. I Love Her For That. I Love The Fact That She Wanted To Give Birth To Her Own Wings.

You Should Write First Drafts As If They Will Never Be Shown To Anyone.

Is A Currency Worth Anything If No One Wants It? We Used To Buy Shoes In Italy. Remember?

I Am Thinking Of The Onion Again. . . . Not Self-righteous Like The Proletarian Potato, Nor A Siren Like The Apple. No Show-off Like The Banana. But A Modest, Self-effacing Vegetable, Questioning, Introspective, Peeling Itself Away, Or Merely Radiating Halos Like Ripples.

Home Is Where Your Books Are.