As a writer, one is busy with archaeology.

Half a page--and the morning is already ancient.

He will hear the rain before he feels it, a clicking on the dry grass, on the olive leaves.

Over the years, confusing fragments, lost corners of stories, have a clearer meaning when seen in a new light, a different place.

And it would be a spare life he would be certain to lead as a schoolteacher in some urban location. But he had a serenity that came with the choice of the life he wanted to live. And this serenity and certainty I have seen only among those who have the armour of books close by.

Fathers die.You keep on loving them in any way you can.You can't hide him away in your heart.

I kind of was shoveled onto a boat at 11 and went to England. I didn't have any parent watching over me. It was very free and may have been a bit of a scary time for me, but I really don't remember much about the voyage apart from playing ping-pong a lot with a couple friends.