It's about waking up. A child wakes up over and over again, and notices that she's living. She dreams along, loving the exuberant life of the senses, in love with beauty and power, oblivious to herself -- and then suddenly, bingo, she wakes up and feels herself alive. She notices her own awareness. And she notices that she is set down here, mysteriously, in a going world.

People who read are not too lazy to turn on the television; they prefer books.

Experiencing the present purely is being empty and hollow; you catch grace as a man fills his cup under a waterfall.

Whenever an encounter between a writer of good will and a regular person of good will happens to touch on the subject of writing, each person discovers, dismayed, that good will is of no earthly use. The conversation cannot proceed.

The creative process obtains in all creative acts. So if I'm painting suddenly I'll see something that I didn't see before.

Old memories are very easy to get except that once you write about something you've destroyed it.

The creatures I seek do not want to be seen.