There are stories, like maps that agree... too consistent among too many languages and histories to be only wishful thinking.... It is always a hidden place, the way into it is not obvious, the geography is as much spiritual as physical. If you should happen upon it, your strongest certainty is not that you have discovered it but returned to it. In a single great episode of light, you remember everything.

Life's single lesson: that there is more accident to it than a man can ever admit to in a lifetime and stay sane.

Darkness invades the dreams of the glassblower. Of all the unpleasantries his dreams grab in out of the night air, an extinguished light is the worst. Light in his dreams, was always hope: the basic, moral hope. As the contacts break helically away, hope turns to darkness, and the glassblower wakes sharply tonight crying, "Who? Who?"

Information. What's wrong with dope and women? Is it any wonder the world's gone insane, with information come to be the only real medium of exchange?

If they can get you asking the wrong questions, they don't have to worry about answers.

My belief is that "recluse" is a code word generated by journalists... meaning, "doesn't like to talk to reporters."

Despair came over her, as it will when nobody around has any sexual relevance to you.