“We are all clothed with fleece of sheep I keep saying as ifI were singing as these words do. Throw a shawl over meso you won't be afraid to sleep. I have already shown thatspace is God.”

“we that were wood when that wide wood was in a physical Universe playing with words bark be my limbs my hair be leaf Bride be my bow my lyre my quiver ”

“God was true everything wasa mother's role in childhoodSomeone was in that gardeneach knowing the other to beentirely inasmuch what eachbelieved or what confessed forcordial confinement is God'sglory each seed every word”

“Now faith is not what wehereafter have we have aworld resting on nothingRest was never more thanabstract since it is emptyreality we cannot escape”

“Herman Melville is not comforting. Emily Dickinson isn’t either. Maybe their work is too hungry for comfort, or just too vivid for comfort. But Henry James is – profoundly so. Because he is tender. The tenderness is there in the structure of the sentence. He knows the way the poor and the dead are forgotten by the living, and he cannot allow that to happen. So he keeps on writing for them, for the dead, as if they were children to be sheltered and loved, never abandoned.”

“I called you a coward! You're a fucking sheep in wolf's clothing”

“...You can have this whole entire life, with all your opinions, your loves, your fears. Eventually those parts of you disappear. And then the people who could remember those parts of you disappear, and before long, all that's left is your name in some ledger. This...person -- she had a favorite food. She had friends and people she disliked. We don't even know how she died...I guess that's why I like preservation better than history. In preservation I feel like I can keep some of it from slipping away.”