The media. It sounds like a convention of spiritualists.

Biography is the mesh through which real life escapes.

What are a friend's books for if not to be borrowed?

Autumnal -- nothing to do with leaves. It is to do with a certain brownness at the edges of the day ... Brown is creeping up on us, take my word for it ... Russets and tangerine shades of old gold flushing the very outside edge of the senses... deep shining ochres, burnt umber and parchments of baked earth -- reflecting on itself and through itself, filtering the light. At such times, perhaps, coincidentally, the leaves might fall, somewhere, by repute. Yesterday was blue, like smoke.

A movie camera is like having someone you have a crush on watching you from afar - you pretend it's not there.

We must be born with an intuition of mortality. Before we know the word for it. Before we know that there are words. Out we come, bloodied and squalling, with the knowledge that for all the points of the compass, there's only one direction. And time is its only measure.

The causes we know everything about depend on causes we know very little about, which depend on causes we know absolutely nothing about.