Frauds master our minds; magicians, like poets and lovers, engage them in a permanent maze of possibilities.

There are two kinds of travelers. There is the kind who goes to see what there is to see, and the kind who has an image in his head and goes out to accomplish it. The first visitor has an easier time, but I think the second visitor sees more.

Wit and puns aren't just décor in the mind; they're essential signs that the mind knows it's on, recognizes its own software, can spot the bugs in its own program.

Big writers become a kind of shared climate.

Sometimes having a good time can be the outward evidence of a deep re-thinking.

Paris, on the other hand, looked exactly as it was supposed to look. It wore its heart on its sleeve, and the strange thing was that the heart it wore so openly was in other ways so closed-mysterious, uninviting.

Love, like light, is a thing that is enacted better than defined: we know it afterward by the traces it leaves on paper.