There is no longer any such thing as fiction or nonfiction; there's only narrative.
I worry about images. Images are what things mean.
Dad is always hiding in his book.
My memories pale as I prevail upon them again and again. They become more and more ghostly. I fear nothing so much as losing them altogether and having only my blank endless mind to live in.
Planning to write is not writing.
The images of things are not the things in themselves.