No one knows what cuases an outer landscape to become an inner one.

Time in dreams is frozen. You can never get away from where you've been.

What a lost person needs is a map of the territory, with his own position marked on it so he can see where he is in relation to everything else.

poetry is where the language is renewed.

Nature is to zoos as God is to churches.

Some cleric putting a match to her. /Neither of them looks happy about it. /Once lit, she'll burn like a book, /like a book that was ever finished, /like a locked-up library.

So much for endings. Beginnings are always more fun. True connoisseurs, however, are known to favor the stretch in between, since it's the hardest to do anything with. That's about all that can be said for plots, which anyway are just one thing after another, a what and a what and a what.