“I do not write to you, but of you,/because the paper that we write on/is our perishable skin.”

“ink marks the page/where you execute your will like a doe announcing an/ox-stern mate with a single, bleary blink.”

“Write because you love to write.”

“It's okay, you can do it. Because I am playing with myself as I write this, I hope you're doing the same as you read it. Otherwise there's not much point. Go ahead. Don't be shy or modest, prudish or self-conscious. That's it. It feels nice, doesn't it?”

“I've seen you up close, like this. I remember your eyes. They're the color of the sea -- just inside a coral reef and your freckles are like the stones of a volcanic island scattered along the sand. Your hair is like the sun setting over the water, shooting out orange rays in all directions”

“Shocked, because even though I was embarrassed by the way Paul talked sometimes, I secretly loved it, I turned back to them to find Paul’s blue eyes on me, with laughter and affection. “I say it ‘cause I want you to hear it. If I write it, will you read it?”

“Writing is not just the technical act of your fingers on the keyboard. Writing is living.”