More on: friendship

He plunged into more and different living beings beneath the river’s surface, also uncaring. Almost-blind fishes swimming between reeds, above rusted cans and keys and teeth and bones.

One second he was riding on the river and the next he was in it, watching his canoe float away upside down, its silvery hull a bright line on the dark river.

Our bare hands redden as we work, / he high on the ladder cutting the old / connections, and I drilling / outlet hole through the siding.

I hear, though, how torn he is: pulled toward something that seems to shame him. I think he half hates himself, and—like many men—he turns self-hatred into the hatred of others, especially women.

In the Avett Brothers, we share in life’s ups and downs even without blood kinship, and by offering one another redemption born of the generosity of forgiveness, the gift of collaboration, and the freedom to pursue our ideas, our musical family blossoms with creativity.

I give you my thanks. Perhaps
you see that in my eyes, although
the only words I have left
are no doubt cruel.

I was warned by teachers and fellow artists against allowing my work to be influenced by others. But I have never really been convinced by the notion of being original.

I would like for Louise Glück to be my friend. This is a recent problem

In a passing moment at the door, Merrill captures a truth about the influence of friendship. Through the unaware examples of others, we recognize values we have been searching for in ourselves—edges or shades of the person we might become.

First we cry.
Then the tears turn to stone.
Then we remember just one thing:
The death of a son.