Journalism has not only its social stimulations but its aesthetic virtues. An invitation into print, from however suspect a source, is an opportunity to make something beautiful, to discover within oneself a treasure that would otherwise have remained buried.

The muttered hint, "Remember, you have a stroke here," freezes my joints like a blast from Siberia.

The great thing about the dead, they make space.

It is in middles that extremes clash, where ambiguity restlessly rules.

Celebrity is a mask that eats into the face.

Time is our element, not a mistaken invader.

The artist brings something into the world that didn't exist before, and he does it without destroying something else.