How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour and with that one, is what we are doing.

It could be that our faithlessness is a cowering cowardice born of our very smallness, a massive failure of imagination... If we were to judge nature by common sense or likelihood, we wouldnt believe the world existed.

How you spend your days is how you spend your life.

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

Many writers do little else but sit in small rooms recalling the real world.

The reader's ear must adjust down from loud life to the subtle, imaginary sounds of the written word. An ordinary reader picking up a book can't yet hear a thing; it will take half an hour to pick up the writing's modulations, its ups and downs and louds and softs.

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