Hope does not necessarily have to take an object.

You're supposed to get tired planting bulbs. But it's an agreeable tiredness.

I confess, right at the start, to the doubts - and sometimes outright dreads - that go with me as I climb the stairs to my study in the morning, coffee mug in hand: I have to admit to the habitual apprehension mixed with a sort of reverence, as I light the incense . . . and wonder: what is going to happen today? Will anything happen? Will the angel come today?

Dreams say what they mean, but they don't say it in daytime language.

During the act of writing I have told myself something that I didn't know I knew.

The characters that I create are parts of myself and I send them on little missions to find out what I don’t know yet.

At times ... one is downright thankful for the self-absorption of other people.