What is remembered is what becomes reality.
I could tell you stories-if only stories could tell what I have in me to tell.
It's always a thrilling risk to say exactly what you mean, to express exactly what you see.
It is hard to sever the cords that tie us to our slavery and leave intact those that bind us to ourselves.
Memory is, first, a captivating mystery.
Writing about why you write is a funny business, like scratching what doesn't itch. Impulses are mysterious, and explaining them must be done with mirrors, like certain cunning slight-of-hand routines.