“In these evenings he sat by our beds weaving folktales like vivid little scarves.”

“Boy and EggEvery few minutes, he wantsto march the trail of flattened rye grassback to the house of mutteringhens. He too could makea bed in hay. Yesterday the egg so freshit felt hot in his hand and he pressed itto his ear while the other childrenlaughed and ran with a ball, leaving him,so little yet, too forgetful in games,ready to cry if the ball brushed him,riveted to the secret of birdscaught up inside his fist,not ready to give it overto the refrigeratoror the rest of the day.”

“Later our dreams begin catching fire around the edges, they burn like paper, we wake with our hands full of ash.”

“It is really hard to be lonely very long in a world of words. Even if you don't have friends somewhere, you still have language, and it will find you and wrap its little syllables around you and suddenly there will be a story to live in.”

“Getting over what you did to me is not why I get out of bed anymore.”

“I am looking for the human who admits his flawsWho shocks the adversaryBy being kinder not strongerWhat would that be like?We don't even know”

“We start out as little bits of disconnected dust.”