When we finish a book, why do we hold it in both hands and gaze at it as if it were somehow alive?
There was a beautiful time in the beginning when I just did it and didn't analyze the consequences, but I think that time ends in everyone's work.
Love is an exploding cigar we willingly smoke.
You have to be willing to spend time making things for no known reason.
are memories pictures or the secret doorway?
I used to live a very social life and never spend much solitary time looking at birds or reading.