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.

Dreams are shores where the ocean of spirit meets the land of matter. Dreams are beaches where the yet-to-be, the once-were, the will-never-be may walk awhile with the still-are.

...it’s not just the person who fills a house, it’s their I’ll be back later!s, their toothbrushes and unused hats and coats, their belongingnesses.

It's true, reading too many novels makes you go blind.

One fine day a predatory world shall consume itself.

I rarely ever put my head above the rampart and see where this big lumbering behemoth called 'global literature' is going.

But no, we cross, crisscross, and recross our old tracks like figure skaters.