What Is It Which Is

Who Tells A Finer Tale Than Any Of Us. Silence Does.

There Is Something Strangely Determinate And Fatal About A Single Shot In The Night. It Is As If Someone Had Cried A Message To You In One Word, And Would Not Repeat It.

We Invent The Past And Remember The Future.

I Will Not Let Thee Go, Except Thou Bless Me.

The Present Is Always Unsettled, No One Has Had Time To Contemplate It In Tranquillity . I Was A Painter Before I Was A Writer And A Painter Never Wants The Subject Right Under His Nose; He Wants To Stand Back And Study A Landscape With Half-closed Eyes.