“...I retreat into my fictional world where everything makes sense - but even there I can't even control what people do...”

“... here's what I believe - sometimes God has a Plan B...”

“you cannot teach artyou cannot make a soul”

“after life has broken you open, perhaps you may create art”

“I see you kneeling in churchstained only by colored windows”

“The only difference between you and a dream is I havent woken up with you”

“...I do come home at Christmas. We all do, or we all should. We all come home, or ought to come home, for a short holiday - the longer, the better - from the great boarding-school, where we are for...”

“He went to the church, and walked about the streets, and watched the people hurrying to and for, and patted the children on the head, and questioned beggars, and looked down into the kitchens of ho...”

“The Christmas presents once opened are Not So Much Fun as they were while we were in the process of examining, lifting, shaking, thinking about, and opening them. Three hundred sixty-five days late...”

“He felt that the stars had been pulverized by the sound of the black jets and that in the morning the earth would be covered with their dust like a strange snow.”

“Wolves, and stars, and snow: Those things made sense.”

“The problem with the snow is that it sticks to everything it touches. You cant get rid of it. Even when it melts away, the chill still clings to your bones.”