Poppies Bleed Petals Of Sheer Excess. You

We Read So That We Can Be Moved By A New Way Of Looking At Things.

The Word Rattled In My Head Like Rocks In An Oatmeal Box.

I'm Always Gratified When I Check Something I've Made Up And Discover That I've Gotten It Right. How Can We Imagine Something That Turns Out To Be True? How Can We Know Things We Couldn't Possibly Know? It Makes Me Wonder About The Existence Of A Collective Unconscious.

I Hated Labels Anyway. People Didn't Fit In Slots--prostitute, Housewife, Saint--like Sorting The Mail. We Were So Mutable, Fluid With Fear And Desire, Ideals And Angles, Changeable As Water.

Memory Is The Fourth Dimension To Any Landscape.