Her mind traveled crooked streets and aimless goat paths, arriving sometimes at profundity, other times at the revelations of a three-year-old.

She is a friend of mind. She gather me, man. The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order. It's good, you know, when you got a woman who is a friend of your mind.

Birth, life, and death -- each took place on the hidden side of a leaf.

I don't think a female running a house is a problem, a broken family. It's perceived as one because of the notion that a head is a man.

Schools must stop being holding pens to keep energetic young people off the job market and off the streets. We stretch puberty out a long, long time.

At some point in life the world's beauty becomes enough. You don't need to photograph, paint or even remember it. It is enough.