If I've done my work well, I vanish completely from the scene. I believe it is invasive of the work when you know too much about the writer.

You must not ever stop being whimsical. And you must not, ever, give anyone else the responsibility for your life.

When When it’s over, it’s over, and we don’t know any of us, what happens then. So I try not to miss anything. I think, in my whole life, I have never missed The full moon or the slipper of its coming back. Or, a kiss. Well, yes, especially a kiss.

Said the river: imagine everything you can imagine, then keep on going.

Do you love this world? Do you cherish your humble and silky life? Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?

The sea can do craziness, it can do smooth, it can lie down like silk breathing or toss havoc shoreward; it can give gifts or withhold all; it can rise, ebb, froth like an incoming frenzy of fountains, or it can sweet-talk entirely. As I can too, and so, no doubt, can you, and you.

When I am alone I can become invisible. I can sit on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds, until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almost unhearable sound of the roses singing.