Perfectionism is the enemy of creation, as extreme self- solitude is the enemy of well- being.

Adversity in immunological doses has its uses; more than that crushes.

Suddenly summoned to witness something great and horrendous, we keep fighting not to reduce it to our own smallness.

Vagueness and procrastination are ever a comfort to the frail in spirit.

It skims in through the eye, and by means of the utterly delicate retina hurls shadows like insect legs inward for translation. Then an immense space opens up in silence and an endlessly fecund sub-universe the writer descends, and asks the reader to descend after him, not merely to gain instructions but also to experience delight, the delight of mind freed from matter and exultant in the strength it has stolen from matter.

Laws aren't ghosts in this country, they walk around with the smell of earth on them.

Everybody who tells you how to act has whiskey on their breath.