“امح نفسك الترابية في السُكْر بالتأمل الإلهي”

“Gerard Manley Hopkins somewhere describes how he mesmerized a duck by drawing a line of chalk out in front of it. Think of me as the duck; the chalk, softly wearing itself away against the tiny pebbles embedded in the corporate concrete, is Joyce's forward-luring rough-smooth voice on the cassettes she gives me. Or, to substitute another image, since one is hardly sufficient in Joyce's case, when I let myself really enter her tape, when I let it surround me, it is as if I'm sunk into the pond of what she is saying, as if I'm some kind of patient, cruising amphibian, drifting in black water, entirely submerged except for my eyes, which blink every so often. Each word comes floating up to me like a thick, healthy lily pad and brushes past my head.”

“He tells me to go away, but I don't think love is anything like water. It doesn't slip off that easily.”

“My mother never saw the irony in calling me a son-of-a-bitch.”

“The rain fell like dead bullets.”

“My environment reflects the life I've led, the places I've visited and the people I've loved.”

“We read to know we're not alone.”