To be alive and to be a ‘writer’ is enough.

I saw myself driving through Eternity in a timeless taxi.

Looking back, I imagine I was always writing. Twaddle it was too. But better far write twaddle or anything, anything, than nothing at all.

No, no the mind I love must still have wild places - a tangled orchard where dark damsons drop in the heavy grass, an overgrown litde wood, the chance of a snake or two (real snakes), a pool that nobody's fathomed the depth of, and paths threaded with those litde flowers planted by the wind.

roses are the only flowers at garden-parties; the only flowers that everybody is certain of knowing.

As in the physical world, so in the spiritual world, pain does not last forever.

The pleasure of all reading is doubled when one lives with another who shares the same books.