Eventually, everything gets stuck between a pair of parentheses or buried in the bottom of a trunk.

Open a book this minute and start reading. Don’t move until you’ve reached page fifty. Until you’ve buried your thoughts in print. Cover yourself with words. Wash yourself away. Dissolve.

He dares not concern himself with the future for fear of disturbing the present.

There are chapters in every life which are seldom read and certainly not aloud.

Write the book you want to read, the one you cannot find.

It's the arrangement of events which makes the stories. It's throwing away, compressing, underlining. Hindsight can give structure to anything, but you have to be able to see it. Breathing, waking and sleeping: our lives are steamed and shaped into stories. Knowing that is what keeps me from going insane, and though I don't like to admit it, sometimes it's the only thing.

I'm concerned about the unknowability of other people.