I was only kicking down the Christmas tree to get the star on top.

The world, like a great iris of an even more gigantic eye, which has also just opened and stretched out to encompass everything, stared back at him.

We meet on the common ground of an uncommon age and share out our gifts of dark and light, good and bad, simple joy and not so simple sorrow.

And what, you ask, does writing teach us? First and foremost, it reminds us that we are alive and that it is a gift and a privilege, not a right.

Venice was and is full of lost places where people put up for sale the last worn bits of their souls, hoping no one will buy.

A book has got smell. A new book smells great. An old book smells even better. An old book smells like ancient Egypt.

Recreate the world in your own image and make it better for your having been here.