All my books started out as extravagant and ended up pure and plain.

I am a fugitive and a vagabond, a sojourner seeking signs.

You search, you break your heart, your back, your brain, and then-and only then-it is handed to you.

About five years ago I saw a mockingbird make a straight vertical descent from the roof gutter of a four-story building. It was an act as careless and spontaneous as the curl of a stem or the kindling of a star.

I think the dying pray at the last not "please," but "thank you," as a guest thanks his host at the door.

Adverbs are a sign that you've used the wrong verb.

He judged the instant and let go; he flung himself loose into the stars.