Three or four times only in my youth did I glimpse the Joyous Isles, before they were lost to fogs, depressions, cold fronts, ill winds, and contrary tides... I mistook them for adulthood. Assuming they were a fixed feature in my life's voyage, I neglected to record their latitude, their longitude, their approach. Young ruddy fool. What wouldn't I give now for a never-changing map of the ever-constant ineffable? To possess, as it were, an atlas of clouds.

Lunatics are writers whose works write them.

Faith, the least exclusive club on Earth, has the craftiest doorman.

Little girls are like old cats. If they don't like you nothing on Earth will make them pretend to.

Leaves turned to soil beneath my feet. Thus it is, trees eat themselves.

Yay, Old'uns' Smart mastered sicks, miles, seeds an' made miracles ord'nary, but it din't master one thing, nay, a hunger in the hearts o' humans, yay, a hunger for more.

Lying's wrong, but when the world spins backwards, a small wrong may be a big right.