Water Is The Exile, Carried Back In

Her Father Had Taught Her About Hands. About A Dog's Paws. Whenever Her Father Was Alone With A Dog In A House He Would Lean Over And Smell The Skin At The Base Of Its Paw. This, He Would Say, As If Coming Away From A Brandy Snifter, Is The Greatest Smell In The World! A Bouquet! Great Rumours Of Travel! She Would Pretend Disgust, But The Dog's Paw Was A Wonder: The Smell Of It Never Suggested Dirt. It's A Cathedral! Her Father Had Said, So-and-so's Garden, That Field Of Grasses, A Walk Through Cyclamen--a Concentration Of Hints Of All The Paths The Animal Had Taken During The Day.

I Have To Teach Myself Not To Read Too Much Into Everything. It Comes From Too Long Having To Read Into Hardly Anything At All.

Every Night I Cut Out My Heart. But In The Morning It Was Full Again

You Don't Want To Write Your Own Opinion, You Don't Want To Just Represent Yourself, But Represent Yourself Through Someone Else.

The Trouble With All Of Us Is We Are Where We Shouldn't Be.