She took off her dark glasses and squinted at me. It was as though her eyes were shattered prisms, the dots of blue and gray and green like broken bits of sparkle.

Don't wanna sleep, don't wanna die, just wanna go a-travellin' through the pastures of the sky

[Y]outh is hardly human: it can't be, for the young never believe they will die...especially would they never believe that death comes, and often, in forms other than the natural one.

All literature is gossip.

I dream of eagles and bring forth sparrows.

Imagination, of course, can open any door - turn the key and let terror walk right in.

Traveling wears me out.