There is a world inside the world.

California deserves whatever it gets. Californians invented the concept of life-style. This alone warrants their doom.

People think about who they are in the stillest hour of the night.

There's always a period of curious fear between the first sweet-smelling breeze and the time when the rain comes cracking down.

I don't know what I think about certain subjects, even today, until I sit down and try to write about them.

Just because it's on the radio doesn't mean we have to suspend belief in the evidence of our senses.

People hurried past, the others of the street, endless anonymous, twenty-one lives per second, race-walking in their faces and pigments, sprays of fleetest being.