I don't know, maybe we're always looking for the right place, maybe it's within reach, but we don't recognize it. Maybe to recognize it, we have to believe in it.

Is it possible to say "It was a beautiful morning at the end of November" without feeling like Snoopy?

Show not what has been done, but what can be. How beautiful the world would be if there were a procedure for moving through labyrinths.

"Then we are living in a place abandoned by God," I said, disheartened. "Have you found any places where God would have felt at home?" William asked me, looking down from his great height.

I write stories about conspiracies and paranoid characters while I am, in fact, a very skeptical person.

The step between ecstatic vision and sinful frenzy is all too brief.

We have a limit, a very discouraging, humiliating limit: death.