I suppose our capacity for self-delusion is boundless.

I suffer as always from the fear of putting down the first line. It is amazing the terrors, the magics, the prayers, the straightening shyness that assails one.

Not only do the brave get killed, but the brave have a better chance of it.

I've seen a look in dogs' eyes, a quickly vanishing look of amazed contempt, and I am convinced that basically dogs think humans are nuts.

You're going to pass something down no matter what you do or if you do nothing. Even if you let yourself go fallow, the weeds will grow and the brambles. Something will grow.

for how can you remember the feel of pleasure or pain or choking emotion? You can remember only that you had them.

The land is so much more than its analysis.