The idea for a novel is like a little tiny fire in a dark night. And, one by one, the characters come and stand around it and warm their hands.

Human Nature Baby, grab it and growl.

...writing fiction...is no job for intellectual cowards.

Bird and bear and hare and fish, give my love her fondest wish.

Go now. Our journey is done. And may we meet again, in the clearing, at the end of the path.

It is the tale, not he who tells it.

Time takes it all, whether you want it to or not. Time takes it all, time bears it away, and in the end there is only darkness. Sometimes we find others in that darkness, and sometimes we lose them there again.