“Late Hours"On summer nights the worldmoves within earshoton the interstate with its swishand growl, and occasional sirenthat sends chills through us.Sometimes, on clear, still nights,voices float into our bedroom,lunar and fragmented,as if the sky had let them golong before our birth.In winter we close the windowsand read Chekhov,nearly weeping for his world.What luxury, to be so happythat we can grieveover imaginary lives.”

“Some nights the sky wept stars that quickly floated and disappeared into the darkness before our wishes could meet them. ”

“There are so many dreams beyond our nights, and so much sunshine beyond our gray walls. But we can't see it when we stay at home. There is so much sky above our roof. Is the door so old that it won't open, or are we at home because we're afraid of catching a chill?”

“Our destiny is aligned with our heart's innermost longing, a longing embedded within our soul before birth. This longing is a unique pattern or configuration reminiscent of the constellations in the night sky. When we express (press out) our unique configuration, it shines through us with an otherworldly luminosity, manifesting abundance in our lives and the lives of others. Our sole task is to yoke our inner destiny, thread it through our lives and weave it into the world. All else is just shadows and dust.”

“How can we read when people need our help? It's a luxury. A stupid luxury.”

“I had this sudden awareness,' she continues, 'of how the moments of our lives go out of existence before we're conscious of having lived them. It's only a relatively few moments that we get to keep and carry with us for the rest of our lives. Those moments are our lives. Or maybe it's more like those moments are the dots in what we call our lives, or the lines we draw between them, connecting them into imaginary pictures of ourselves.”