Am I an old man who changed into a butterfly, or a butterfly who thinks he was once an old man?

The physical world exists, but that’s only the paint and canvas; that’s only the instrument we use to make music; that’s only the stage where the play is performed.

Like a fire alarm going off in your ear, sulfur up your nose, mouth full of sour milk, reality is what it is – you deal with it.

Words are harsh mistresses, to be sure. Like petulant divas, they want only those parts that play to their talents and mask their blemishes, and only when complete companies of players who love their parts are assembled will they sing in harmony. I am your director for this stage production and will employ my best wiles to create a performance both truthful, and beautiful. I know that words are tricksters who show one face to you and another to me, so I am never certain you’ll hear in your head what I hear in my head. Since I deliver even this little truth with words, I acknowledge the irony.

Only locks in life are what you think you know, but don’t. Accept your ignorance and try something new.

You’re the only you you get in this life! Show a little appreciation!

Her eyes beamed over the top of the cup like Peterbilt high beams coming over a hillcrest, full moon rising over a mountain lake with its reflected partner, 747 landing lights coming down onto a runway.

For most of human history people owned other people. Then, only a hundred and fifty years ago, our ancestors figured out that was a bad idea. One day we’ll figure out, or our descendants will figure out, that people owning land they don’t live on or work is a bad idea too.

Laughter erupted from her belly and shot out her mouth like pigeons through an open cage door, schoolchildren bursting into summer vacation, water from a tapped hydrant.

The world of literature is a sacred mirror that shows not the reality around us but the dreams and fears that reality stimulates: It’s not where we live, but life itself.