For the spell is older than experience. For the tale is older than the record.

Don't you know no one can escape the power of creatures reaching out with breath alone?

No one has ever stepped twice into the same river. But did anyone ever step twice into the same book?

What is this gypsy passion for separation, this readiness to rush off when we've just met? My head rests in my hands as I realize, looking into the night that no one turning over our letters has yet understood how completely and how deeply faithless we are, which is to say: how true we are to ourselves.

One should write only those books from whose absence one suffers. In short: the ones you want on your own desk.

I am a moonbeam, free to go whenever I choose.

However much you feed a wolf, it always looks to the forest. We are all wolves of the dense forest of Eternity.