“but you were never in my shoes, chinaberry/ nor I in yours”

“[Here's where you imagine the rest.]”

“Death is not ambiguous.”

“I haven't written in a week. It's like holding your breath under water. You feel an awful constriction and then the instinct to propel yourself.”

“I would like to buy about three dollars worth of gospel, please. Not too much – just enough to make me happy, but not so much that I get addicted. I don't want so much gospel that I learn to really hate covetousness and lust. I certainly don't want so much that I start to love my enemies, cherish self-denial, and contemplate missionaryservice in some alien culture. I want ecstasy, not repentance; I want transcendence, not transformation. I would like to be cherished by some nice, forgiving, broad-minded people, but Imyself don't want to love those from different races – especially if they smell. I would like enough gospel to make my family secure and my children well behaved, but not so much that I find my ambitions redirected or my giving too greatly enlarged. I wouldlike about three dollars worth of gospel, please.”

“Never look a gift horse in the magazine well.”

“Like a father with his daughter, the writist plays peek-a-boo with the world. His aim is to evoke that sweet smile, the one that says "i remember you. I am glad you are here again".”