For memory, we use our imagination. We take a few strands of real time and carry them with us, then like an oyster we create a pearl around them.

I never went to university. I'm self-educated. I didn't go because I was too impatient, too arrogant.

I'm full of self-doubt. I doubt everything I do. Everything I do is a failure.

Perhaps all of life is no more than a long preparation for the leaving of it.

And indeed nothing had happened, a momentous nothing, just another of the great world's shrugs of indifference.

Enormous morning, ponderous, meticulous; gray light streaking each bare branch, each single twig, along one side, making another tree, of glassy veins.

The world is not real for me until it has been pushed through the mesh of language.