Naturally we would prefer seven epiphanies a day and an earth not so apparently devoid of angels.

We are all naturally xenophobic.

To be devoid of life is to lack spiritual dimension that brings heaven to earth

Poetry, at its best, is the language your soul would speak if you could teach your soul to speak.

The idea is to eat well and not die from it - for the simple reason that that would be the end of your eating.

I do mourn my characters. I wrote an essay once where I was sure that far back in a marsh there was a hummock - a little hill of hardwoods - and an old farm house, where all the heroines in my novels lived together with all my beloved dead dogs. I've discussed this with my therapist, naturally. He says it's okay in fair amounts.