“I tell me:Let these words be footsteps, because I have a long way to travel. Let the words walk the dirty streets. Let them make their way across the crying grass. Let them stand and breathe and pant smoke in winter evenings. And when they're tired and have fallen down, let them buckle to their feet ad arc around me, watchful.I want these words to be actions.Give them flesh and bones, I say to me, and eyes of hunger and desire, so they can write and fight me through the night.”

“Everything has its way of speaking and telling things worth knowing. Even the little grass-blades have their way of saying things as plain as words when human lips let them fall...the choice bits of wisdom...were never written down in any books.”

“My words never last long. I have to destroy them before anyone sees them. But. I remember them all. For some reason, the act of writing them down makes me remember. Each word I write brings me closer to finding the right ones. And when I see Ky again, which I know will happen, I will whisper the words I have written in his ear, against his lips. and they will change from ash and nothing into flesh and blood.”

“Writing it downis the way I make it real,the way I find my wayinto what it is I feel.The words on paper orcomputer screentell me more thanwhat I knew beforeI wrote them,help me rememberwhat I'm afraidI'll forget,let me keepwhat I don't wantto lose,say to me:Youwerehere.”

“Let it rain, let it pour, because she don't love me anymore. So let it come down on me. Every word, let it hurt, even more than I deserve.”

“Liberty? Independence? Are they to remain only words? Gentlemen, let us make them fighting words!”