What has happened makes the world. Live on the edge, looking.

I did however used to think, you know, in the woods walking, and as a kid playing in the woods, that there was a kind of immanence there — that woods, and places of that order, had a sense, a kind of presence, that you could feel; that there was something peculiarly, physically present, a feeling of place almost conscious ... like God. It evoked that.

What has happened makes the world. Live on the edge, looking.

The pattern of the narrative never of necessity wants to end, it never has to.

Locale is both a geographic term and the inner sense of being.

Love, if you love me, lie next to me. Be for me, like rain, the getting out of the tiredness, the fatuousness, the semi- lust of intentional indifference. Be wet with a decent happiness.

What a great thing! To be a writer! Words are something you can carry in your head. You can really 'travel light.'