Oh, if the moon only had a secret, if the moon only held a truth. But the moon was just the moon.

But during all these years I had a vague but persistent desire to return to New Orleans. I never forgot New Orleans. And when we were in tropical places and places of those flowers and trees that grow in Louisiana, I would think of it acutely and I would feel for my home the only glimmer of desire I felt for anything outside my endless pursuit of art.

I was in the black silence of a medieval street, and blindly I followed its sharp turns, comforted by the height of its narrow tenements, which seemed at any moment capable of falling together, closing this alleyway under indifferent stars like a seam.

I was a newborn vampire, weeping at the beauty of the night.

I lived like a man who wanted to die but who had no courage to do it himself.

[...] so important to believe in a concept of goodness, even if we make it up ourselves. We don't really make it up. it's there, isn't it?" "Oh, yes, it's there," she said. "It's there because we put it there.

Re-telling the Christian story is the essence of my vocation. That has been going on since the Evangelists in one form or another.