I don't think anything needs to happen in a book.

The books turn out to be about things afterwards. I don't go into them with concepts, for the most part.

I'm clearer now in what I want to say, and I know better how to say just that.

The old man began to sing. His voice was very lovely and obviously a part of something that the world had disposed of in its haste, evidence of a grander, kinder past.

That would be the death of anyone - to recognize false hopes with a certainty. One mustn't know that. If it is offered, refuse!

I begin with an image of some sort, just as if you saw something out of a window, and then went to the window to see what it was.

Not that believing such things has anything to do with whether they are true. You see that, don't you?