She had left me thirsty and all my life would be thirst and longing for what I had lost before I found it.

She had left me thirsty and all my life would be thirst and longing for what I had lost before I found it.

All of a writer that matters is in the book or books. It is idiotic to be curious about the person.

As soon as I turned the key I saw it hanging, the color of fire and sunset. the colour of flamboyant flowers. ‘If you are buried under a flamboyant tree, ‘ I said, ‘your soul is lifted up when it flowers. Everyone wants that.’ She shook her head but she did not move or touch me.

before I could read, almost a baby, I imagined that God, this strange thing or person I heard about, was a book.

Age seldom arrives smoothly or quickly. It's more often a succession of jerks.

She haunted him, as an ungenerous action haunts one.