“That’s why I quit politics,” a teen says into his cellphone, juuling with his free hand.

“…your hunger became less interesting. Home had been there waiting, right inside of you.”

“The healing is a continent
too. It is the tissue

of human faith, the ache
of animal longing. “

“I could not comprehend how love for someone other than me could be called love for me. Love sees only the beloved, I believed. Two faces turned toward each other alone.”

“If there’s a kind of sculptor who finds her way by diving blindly into the fog, hands extended, that’s the kind of writer-sculptor that I am.”