Readers transform a library from a mausoleum into many theaters.
I do not remember joy or sorrow in childhood, but listening for clues.
The beginning of self-knowledge: recognizing that your motives are the same as other people's.
Travelling carries me to the surface, away from the deeps of home-thoughts.
The writer is always courted by invitations from the all-too- familiar.
The intimacy of love absolves us of our guilty separateness.