Folklore is the perfect second skin. From under its hide, we can see all the shimmering, shadowy uncertainties of the world.

You are a name, not a number. Never forget that name, whatever they tell you here. You will always be Chaya—life—to me.

Take a step, breathe in the world, give it out again in story, poem, song, art.

You know how it is: as soon as you decide to forget something, your brain comes to the conclusion that it's the most fascinating thing in the world.

You can only chase a butterfly for so long.

Get up from your desk and wander outside occasionally. To be a good writer one needs to be a good observer, and there isn't a lot to be observed at desk level.

The thing I want to know is, if you tell your brain not to do stuff... and it keeps doing it anyway, does that mean your mind has a mind of its own? And if it does, then who's in charge here, anyway?