“Memory is a tenuous thing. . . .flickering glimpses, blueand white, like ancient,decomposing 16mm film.Happiness escapesme there, where facesare vague and yesterdayseems to come tiedup in ribbons of pain.Happiness? I look for it inteadin today, where memoryis something I can stilltouch, still rely on.I find it in the smilesof new friends, the hopeblossoming inside.My happiest memorieshave no place in thepast; they are thoseI have yet to create.”

“My happiest memories have no place in the past; they are those I have yet to create.”

“I do have friends, but they don't know me, only someone I've created to take my place. Someone sculpted from ice. I keep the melted me bottled up inside. Where no one can touch her, until, unbidden, she comes pouring out.”

“Memory is a tenuous thing, like a rainbow's end or a camera with a failing lens.”

“Honolulu represents the worst of all that. Yet every time I fly in, anticipation begins to build just about the time I think I'll go crazy, stuffed into a narrow airliner seat between honeymooners and retired couples looking for Shangri-La.I'd like to tell them to hold on tight to that person beside them, because that's where they'll find paradise. It is not a beach or a palm tree grove or the brim of a smoking black crater. It's a plateau inside their hearts, one that can only be reached in tandem.”

“Or might the soul clone itself,create a perfect imitationof something yet to bedefined? In this way,can a reflection be altered?”

“Losing ItSome days I thinkI'm losing my mind.What seems so clearmost of the timebecomes a big question mark.Am I really the wayI percieve myself, oris the person others seethe truth of me? I wait foranswers, but inside I know I have to go outand find them. And answerslike knowledge, are not always where wefirst look for them.”