The air itself was ebony, like the denial, the refutation, of the idea of light.

Perhaps there are other bits of my life that would take on content, take on shadow, if only I read more and thought less about money.

I think it's likely that the civilizing effect of literature has done most of the work, and still continues to do. Look at Steven Pinker's book, The Better Angels of Our Nature: Why Violence Has Declined. It proves beyond any shadow of doubt that violence has declined dramatically throughout the centuries. There are various reasons for it: the rise of the state, Leviathan, the monopoly of violence, children's rights, animal rights. They're all positive signs.

My 12-year-old daughter said to me, "Enough with the subtitles, Daddy, for crying out loud." Because they always seem to cloud the issue rather than clarify it.

Every 10 years you're a different person, and the really great books evolve with you as you get older. They're full of new rewards.

You can kill time in a number of ways but it always depends on the kind of time you're fighting: some time is unkillable, immortal

When I go back to the core of my childhood, my cousin Lucy seems always to be in the peripheral vision of my memories. She is off to one side, always off to one side, with a book, with a scheme or a project or an enterprise.