Smaller than a breadbox, bigger than a TV remote, the average book fits into the human hand with a seductive nestling, a kiss of texture, whether of cover cloth, glazed jacket, or flexible paperback.

We all begin life as parasites within the mother, and writers begin their existence imitatively, within the body of letters.

So much love, too much love, it is our madness, it is rotting us out, exploding us like dandelion polls.

Four years was enough of Harvard. I still had a lot to learn, but had been given the liberating notion that now I could teach myself.

Human was the music, natural was the static.

We do survive every moment, after all, except the last one.

Writing criticism is to writing fiction and poetry as hugging the shore is to sailing in the open sea.