Life is a process of one goneness after another.

Words have a life; without response they die.

Language is an archaeological vehicle... the language we speak is a whole palimpsest of human effort and history.

The things that matter don't necessarily make sense.

I'll never retire. They'll have to take my computer out of my cold, dead hands. I'm addicted to writing. I feel physically unwell if I'm not doing it.

Who is Alice?" asked mother. "Alice is somebody that nobody can see," said Frances. "And that is why she does not have a birthday. So I am singing Happy Thursday to her." - Frances the badger

Explorers have to be ready to die lost.