Why Have We Had To

Where Are The Beginnings, The Endings, And Most Important, The Middles?

The Mysterious Does Not Spell Itself Out In Capital Letters, As Many Writers Believe, But Is Always Between, An Interstice.

Literature Is ... A Game, But It's A Game One Can Put One's Life Into.

As If You Could Pick In Love, As If It Were Not A Lightning Bolt That Splits Your Bones And Leaves You Staked Out In The Middle Of The Courtyard. (...) You Don't Pick Out The Rain That Soaks You To The Skin When You Come Out Of A Concert.

I'm Such A Jerk; It Had Never Occurred To Me That When We Look At A Photo From The Front, The Eyes Reproduce Exactly The Position And The Vision Of The Lens; It's These Things That Are Taken For Granted And It Never Occurs To Anyone To Think About Them.