you will never catch up.Walk around feeling like a leafknow you could tumble at any second.Then decide what to do with your time.–The Art of Disappearing
Poetry [is] more necessary than ever as a fire to light our tongues.
We dropped our troubles into the lap of the storyteller, and they turned into someone else’s.
I love the solitude of reading. I love the deep dive into someone else’s story, the delicious ache of a last page.
It is really hard to be lonely very long in a world of words. Even if you don’t have friends somewhere, you still have language, and it will find you and wrap its little syllables around you and suddenly there will be a story to live in.
No one lives in these regionsof rock and sun. It is a lucky part of the world; to grow old without buildings and roadways, to dissolve quietly without feeling stunned.
Getting over what you did to me is not why I get out of bed anymore.
Because sometimes I live in a hurricane of wordsand not one of them can save me.
only kindness that raises its headfrom the crowd of the world to sayit is I you have been looking for,and then goes with you everywherelike a shadow or a friend.
You know, those of us who leave our homes in the morning and expect to find them there when we go back – it’s hard for us to understand what the experience of a refugee might be like.