Each word is a portable cathedral in which we clarify and sanctify our experience, a reliquary and a laboratory, holding the history of our search for meaning and the pliancy of the possible future, of there being richer and deeper dimensions of experience than those we name in our surface impressions. In the roots of words we find a portal to the... See more

something’s gone wrong with the words in time—syllables linger, refusing to dissipate or fall into silence—so that now there’s a pileup of sounds, like cars colliding on a highway, turning meaning into cacophony, and before she knows it, she is adding to the din, wordlessly, soundlessly, with a cry that rises from her throat and goes on and on

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