The Universe Is Transformation.

If Only I Had Discipline, But Alas, It Is Only An Obsessive-compulsive Trait And The Beauty Of Habit That Causes Me To Return Again And Again To My Work.

...which Causes Me To Wonder, My Own Purpose On So Many Days As Humble As The Spider's, What Is Beautiful That I Make? What Is Elegant? What Feeds The World?

I Did Not Choose Solitude. Who Would? It Came On Me Like A Kind Of Vocation, Demanding An Effort That Married Women Can't Picture.

He Despised His Body For Its Boring Hungers, Reflex Anger; Its Petty, Obliterating Rage. But Now He'd Become Detached. He Regarded His Body With A Tender Regret. It Was The Thing His Spirit Had To Haul.

The Story Comes Around, Pushing At Our Brains, And Soon We Are Trying To Ravel Back To The Beginning, Trying To Put Families Into Order And Make Sense Of Things. But We Start With One Person, And Soon Another And Another Follows, And Still Another, Until We Are Lost In The Connections.