“. . .our whispered words, faintly in the darkness, dissolvingwithin the treesthen, fleeting words of consolationwould not suffice if feigned, and flippant wordsconfessed reluctanceour wordswere mea...”

“I wish to go down under the watersthe cool, crystalline waters that I knew, where allthat is, here, existing, isis only to be lost within the susurrationsand the rumours of water and the evening st...”

“. . .though the names of lovers are forgotten in time, their nameswritten across the sky as ogham threads are tracedbetween the stars”

“. . .the sorrows of the heart yearn to be erased, for one final atonementfinite and forgetting and wholebut time in its preservingwill not permit forgetting; destroyingonly when we can no longer be...”

“. . . Thisis not the same river at my fingertips. There are no paths, no sunken roadsfamiliar in the forest, by which we canretrace our steps, by which we can escapeby which we can reclaim and ret...”

“To forget would mean the things we never knew had never waited to be known, never waitedto be forgotten, had never been; waitingbeneath the long dead starsin time. . .”

“There is not a moment in which God does not present Himself under the cover of some pain to be endured, of some consolation to be enjoyed, or of some duty to be performed. All that takes place with...”

“I flopped on the overstuffed kitchen couch and watched him go. I wondered what would happen to all his films and photographs in the upstairs closet - the documentaries on homelessness and drug addi...”

“Wherever you will go, I will let you down, But this lullaby goes on.”

“...reclusiveness itself may be a kind of violence. It leaves an abyss for us to throw our fantasies into.”

“A fair vision had welcomed him in this land of disease.”

“In a fallen world marked by human depravity and deep-seated sin, in a world where Hitler and Stalin had recruited millions of followers to commit mass murder, love must harness power and seek justi...”

“I don't feel like a person at all: I am something to be loaded and unloaded, like a sofa or a cuckoo clock. I am something to be tossed into a junkyard, thrown into the river, if necessary. I don't...”

“A gift involves sacrifice. If you give away something that you no longer value or want, it cannot be a gift. It is simply a discarded item.”

“So often, the discarded love of youth is desperately yearned for in maturity.”