A schedule defends from chaos and whim. A net for catching days.

When I walk with a camera, I walk from shot to shot, reading the light on a calibrated meter. When I walk without a camera, my own shutter opens, and the moment's light prints on my own silver gut. When I see this second way I am above all an unscrupulous observer.

Every live thing is a survivor on a kind of extended emergency bivouac.

Time is the warp and matter the weft of the woven texture of beauty in space, and death is the hurling shuttle.

The soul may ask God for anything, and never fail.

Painters work from the ground up. The latest version of a painting overlays earlier versions, and obliterates them. Writers, on the other hand, work from left to right. The discardable chapters are on the left.

Why do we people in churches seem like cheerful, brainless tourists on a packaged tour of the Absolute?