Timmy, who made a daring escape, also made a mistake of paying the taxi driver with a check made out of toilet paper.

All writers - all beings - are exiles as a matter of course. The certainty about living is that it is a succession of expulsions of whatever carries the life force...All writers are exiles wherever they live and their work is a lifelong journey towards the lost land.

Much of living is an attempt to preserve oneself by annexing and occupying others.

I had a cousin once who lived in your dictionary, inside the binding, and there was a tiny hole which he used for a door, and it led out between trichotomy and trick. Now what do you think of that? It was only a few minutes walk to trigger, then over the page to trinity, trinket and trional, and there my cousin used to fall asleep.

There is no past or future. Using tenses to divide time is like making chalk marks on water.

Possibility was not a bag or box that could be closed and sealed, it was a vast open chute which received everything, everything; one could not choose or direct or destroy the powerful flow of possibility.

I don't wish to inhabit the human world under false pretences.