So what is wild? What is wilderness? What are dreams but an internal wilderness and what is desire but a wildness of the soul? - Louise Erdrich

I love plants. For the longest time I thought that they died without pain. But of course after I had argued with Mary she showed me clippings on how plants went into shock when pulled up by their roots, and even uttered something indescribable, like panic, a drawn-out vowel only registered on special instruments. Still, I love their habit of constant return. I don't like cut flowers. Only the ones that grow in the ground.

You can’t assimilate Indian ghosts. It’s too late!

it’s grandma food, ‘bad for the arteries but good for the heart.