I Met People When We Lived Down

He Was Himself A Case In Point, And Perhaps Not A Rare One, For His Spirit, It Seemed, Had Been Burned Out Of Him But He Was Yet Walking.

When All Else Is Lost And Gone Forever, There Is Yearning. Only Desire Trumps Time.

I've Never Been Very Attached To Genre Labels And Never Set Out Intentionally To Write Historic Fiction. Besides, What You Consider Historic Depends On How Far Back Your Memory Extends.

I Remember My Father Checking On A Mountain Kid Who Hadn't Been Coming To School. My Father Had This Beautiful Harris Tweed Overcoat. He Came Back With A Knife Cut All Down One Side. The Parents Had Told Him It Was None Of His Business Why Their Son Wasn't Going To School.

But I Believe The Words Entered Me And Changed Me And Still Work In Me. The Words Eat Me And Sustain Me. And When I'm Dead And In A Box In The Dark Dark Ground, And All My Various Souls Have Died And I Am Nothing But Insensible Bones, Something In The Marrow Will Still Feel Yearning, Desire Persisting Beyond Flesh.