If it is indeed impossible - or at least very difficult - to inhabit the consciousness of an animal, then in writing about animals there is a temptation to project upon them feelings and thoughts that may belong only to our own human mind and heart.

You are going to end up as one of those sad old men who poke around in rubbish bins.” “I’m going to end up in a hole in the ground... And so are you. So are we all.

he knows too much about himself to subject her to a morning after, when he will be cold, surly, impatient to be alone.

I said to myself, 'If you don't sit down to it today, when will you ever sit down to it?'

Strictly speaking, my interest is not in legal rights for animals but in a change of heart towards animals.

The masters of information have forgotten about poetry, where words may have a meaning quite different from what the lexicon says, where the metaphoric spark is always one jump ahead of the decoding function, where another, unforeseen reading is always possible.

The end of confession is to tell the truth to and for oneself.