What hope is there for individual reality or authenticity when the forces of violence and orthodoxy, the earthly powers of guns and bombs and manipulated public opinion make it impossible for us to be authentic and fulfilled human beings? The only hope is in the creation of alternative values, alternative realities. The only hope is in daring to redream one's place in the world - a beautiful act of imagination, and a sustained act of self becoming. Which is to say that in some way or another we breach and confound the accepted frontiers of things.

Our time here is magic! It's the only space you have to realize whatever it is that is beautiful, whatever is true, whatever is great, whatever is potential, whatever is rare, whatever is unique, in. It's the only space.

We have fallen into this very mean description of humanity. Naturalism in fiction is too reductive in its definition of human beings.

Reading, like writing, is a creative act. If readers only bring a narrow range of themselves to the book, then they'll only see their narrow range reflected in it.

To sustain your belief through situations that completely undermine it is quite something.

The magician and the politician have much in common: they both have to draw our attention away from what they are really doing.

In the beginning there was a river. The river became a road and the road branched out to the whole world. And because the road was once a river it was always hungry.