I know I've had an unusual beginning and a colourful life, but that wouldn't matter if I couldn't make it speak to other people.

Don't you think it's strange that life, described as so rich and full, a camel-trail of adventure, should shrink to this coin-sized world? A head on one side, a story on the other. Someone you loved and what happened. That's all there is when you dig in your pockets. The most significant thing is someone else's face. What else is embossed on your hands but her?

Earth is ancient now, but all knowledge is stored up in her. She keeps a record of everything that has happened since time began. Of time before time, she says little, and in a language that no one has yet understood. Through time, her secret codes have gradually been broken. Her mud and lava is a message from the past. Of time to come, she says much, but who listens?

Every journey conceals another journey within its lines: the path not taken and the forgotten angle.

This is not a love story, but love is in it. That is, love is just outside it, looking for a way to break in.

We live in a world of buy it or leave it. Love does not signify.

True stories are the ones that lie open at the border, allowing a crossing, a further frontier. The final frontier is just science fiction--don't believe it. Like the universe, there is no end.