Events need their invitation, dissolutions their start.

The myriad past, it enters us and disappears. Except that within it, somewhere, like diamonds, exist the fragments that refuse to be consumed. Sifting through, if one dares, and collecting them, one discovers the true design.

The whole joy of writing comes from the opportunity to go over it and make it good, one way or another.

My idea of writing is of unflinching and continual effort, somehow trying to find the right words until you reach a point where you can make no further progress and you either have something or you don’t.

Life is weather. Life is meals.

We were moderate, we will never know what it is to spill out our lives.

Hope but not enthusiasm is the proper state for the writer.