The oldest emotion in the world may be that of being moved; but to describe it-just to name it-must have been like trying to catch something invisible.

So many words get lost. They leave the mouthand lose their courage, wandering aimlessly until they are swept into the gutter like dead leaves. On rainy days you can hear their chorus rushing past.

I have always written about characters who fall somewhere in the spectrum between solitary and totally alienated.

He held my hand and told me a story about when he was six and threw a rock at a kid's head who was bullying his brother, and how after that no one had bothered either of them again. 'You have to stick up for yourself,' he told me. 'But it's bad to throw rocks,' I said. 'I know. You're smarter than me. You'll find something better than rocks.

I've reached the age where bruises are formed from failures within rather than accidents without.

Bruno, my old faithful. I haven't sufficiently described him. Is it enough to say he is indescribable? No. Better to try and fail than not to try at all.

All I want is not to die on a day when I went unseen.