What I really like to learn how to do is to build sentences that are equal to mental states.

Music forecasts the past, recalls the future. Now and then the difference falls away, and in one simple gift of circling sound, the ear solves the scrambled cryptogram. One abiding rhythm, present and always, and you're free. But a few measures more, and the cloak of time closes back around you.

All the different ways we know the world all come from the brain, and they all depend on each other to make sense.

The thing that makes reading and writing suspect in the eyes of the market economy is that it's not corrupted.

I write the way you might arrange flowers. Not every try works, but each one launches another. Every constraint, even dullness, frees up a new design.

When you're sure of what you're looking at, look harder.

Only keep still, wait, and hear, and the world will open.