The clown may be the source of mirth, but - who shall make the clown laugh?

Some cities are women and must be loved; others are men and can only be admired or bargained with

Stars on our door, stars in our eyes, stars exploding in the bits of our brains where the common sense should have been

In a secular age, an authentic miracle must purport to be a hoax, in order to gain credit in the world.

Nostalgia, the vice of the aged. We watch so many old movies our memories come in monochrome.

The end of all stories, even if the writer forebears to mention it, is death, which is where time stops short. Sheherezade knew this, which is why she kept on spinning another story out of the bowels of the last one, never coming to a point where she could say: "This is the end." Because it would have been.

I don't really think that writers, even great writers, are prophets, or sages, or Messiah-like figures; writing is a lonely, sedentary occupation and a touch of megalomania can be comforting around five on a November afternoon when you haven't seen anybody all day.