“... the man took my passport and asked me the purpose of my visit, I wrote in my daybook, 'To mourn,' and then, 'To try to live,' he gave me a look and asked if I would consider that business or pleasure, I wrote, 'Neither.' 'For how long do you plan to mourn and try to live?' I wrote, 'For the rest of my life.”

“When I got off the plane, after eleven hours of travel and forty years away, the man took my passport and asked me the purpose of my visit, I wrote in my daybook, "To mourn," and then, "To mourn try to live," he gave me a look and asked if I would consider that business or pleasure, I wrote, "Neither." "For how long do you plan to mourn and try to live?" "For as long as I can." "Are we talking about a weekend or a year?" I didn't write anything. The man said, "Next.”

“He Wrote, Are you OK?I told him, My eyes are crummy.He wrote, But are you OK?I told him, That's a very complicated question.He wrote, That's a very simple answer.I asked, Are you OK?He wrote, Some mornings I wake up feeling grateful.”

“Am I allowed to ask my bookwhether it's true I wrote it?”

“When asked, "Why do you always wear black?", he said, "I am mourning for my life.”

“My tunes and numbers are here. They have filled my years, the years when I refused to die. And in order to do that I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, at noon or 3:00 A.M.So as not to be dead.”