“A low thrum in his gut. Love. What is the measure of such a thing? Love, or the word love, is like an elusive jungle bird that because it is so durable has thousands of mimics and camouflaged neighbors.”

“The past is fractal premonition, infinite to the eye but nothing to be built on . . .”

“There was a time when our desire for each other would have landed us in an asylum or prison, had it not been sanctioned by mutual assent. True or false.”

“One word ‘love’ has to do service for so many different kinds of the same animal.”

“Oh, what a catastrophe, what a maiming of love when it was made personal, merely personal feeling. This is what is the matter with us: we are bleeding at the roots because we are cut off from the earth and sun and stars. Love has become a grinning mockery because, poor blossom, we plucked it from its stem on the Tree of Life and expected it to keep on blooming in our civilized vase on the table.”

“Music is only love looking for words.”

“He loved the desert because there the wind blew out one's footsteps like candle flames.”