Ideas result from the collision of metaphors inside the head.

Living at risk is jumping off the cliff and building your wings on the way down.

If you're living in your time, you cannot help but to write about the things that are important.

If I was ever a rare fine summer person, that's long ago. Most of us are half-and-half. The August noon in us works to stave off the November chills. We survive by what little Fourth of July wits we've stashed away. But there are times when we're all autumn people.

The magic is only in what books say, how they stitched the patches of the universe together into one garment for us.

Men throw huge shadows on the lawn, don't they? Then, all their lives, they try to run to fit the shadows. But the shadows are always longer.

Books are flesh-and-blood ideas and cry out, silently, when put to the torch.