I see the poem or the novel ending with an open door.

I don't see novels ending with any real sense of closure.

Research can be a big clunker. It's difficult to know how you can make the historical light.

This was the time in her life that she fell upon books as the only door out of her cell. They became half her world.

The desert could not be claimed or owned — it was a piece of cloth carried by winds, never held down by stones, and given a hundred shifting names before Canterbury existed, long before battles and treaties quilted Europe and the East ... All of us, even those with European homes and children in the distance, wished to remove the clothing of our countries. It was a place of faith. We disappeared into landscape.

All I ever wanted was a world without maps.

A blind lover, don't know what I love till I write it out