House of Leaves is certainly about the unsettling nature of fear - and it was my aim to address that - but its also about recovering from fear.

I believe the structure of 'House of Leaves' is far more difficult to explain than it is to read. And while I'd like to lay claim to some extraordinary act of originality, truth is I'm only taking advantage of capabilities inherent in everyone.

Prometheus, thief of light, giver of light, bound by the gods, must have been a book.

Come morning I found the day as I have found every other day--without relief or explanation.

He [Zampano] probably would of insisted on corrections and edits, he was his own harshest critic, but I've come to believe errors, especially written errors, are often the only markers left by a solitary life: to sacrifice them is to lose the angels of personality, the riddle of a soul. In this case a very old soul. A very old riddle.

And where there is no Echo there is no description of space or love. There is only silence.

Losing the possibility of something is the exact same thing as losing hope and without hope nothing can survive.