I read; I travel; I become
The truest writers are those who see language not as a linguistic process but as a living element.
The sigh of History rises over ruins, not over landscapes, and in the Antilles there are few ruins to sigh over, apart from the ruins of sugar estates and abandoned forts.
In Eden who sleeps happiest? The serpent.
The English language is nobody's special property.
Art is History's nostalgia, it prefers a thatched roof to a concrete factory, and the huge church above a bleached village.