You know, it's a truism that writers for children must still be children themselves, deep down, must still feel childish feelings, and a child's surprise at the world.

I think the names of colors are at the edge, between where language fails and where it's at its most powerful.

Outside our small safe place flies mystery.

Once you get older, people stop listening to what you say. It's very agreeable once you get used to it.

A beautiful woman, Simone Weil said, seeing herself in the mirror, knows "This is I." An ugly woman knows with equal certainty, "This is not I." Maud knew this neat division represented an over-simplification. The doll-mask she saw had nothing to do with her, nothing.

Funny way to spend your life, though, studying another chap's versifying.

You can understand a lot about yourself by working out which fairytale you use to present your world to yourself in.