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.

The joyful will stoop with sorrow, and when you have gone to the earth I will let my hair grow long for your sake, I will wander through the wilderness in the skin of a lion

... the desert, where there is the communal book of moonlight. We were among the rumour of wells. In the palace of winds.

It's a discovery of a story when I write a book, a case of inching ahead on each page and discovering what's beyond in the darkness, beyond where you're writing.

All I desired was to walk upon such an earth that had no maps.

There is a story, always ahead of you. Barely existing. Only gradually do you attach yourself to it and feed it. You discover the carapace that will contain and test your character. You will find in this way the path of your life.

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