I realized that your mother couldn't see the emptiness, she couldn't see anything...All of the words I'd written to her over all of those years, had I never said anything to hear at all?
Feeling well that breathed words Would all be lost, unheard, and vain as swords Against the enchased crocodile, or leaps Of grasshoppers against the sun.
I shall have more to say when I am dead.
If you can speak what you will never hear, if you can write what you will never read, you have done rare things.
In Hell all the messages you ever left on answering machines will be played back to you.
