For echo is the soul of the voice exciting itself in hollow places.

So we came to understand that small and important thing, that our lives could be large with interesting strangers who would pass us without any personal involvement.

Before the real city could be seen it had to be imagined, the way rumours and tall tales were a kind of charting.

she had a laugh that hinted it had rolled around once or twice in the mud.

That's one of the great sadnesses of any life - knowing what you know now and then remembering what you did not know then.

What began it all was the bright bone of a dream I could hardly hold onto.

When I read biographies, I skip the first thirty pages about the childhood because it doesn't seem interesting to me.