For there is a virtue in truth; it has an almost mystic power. Like radium, it seems to give off forever and ever grains of energy, atoms of light.

Speech is an old torn net, through which the fish escape as one casts it over them.

She fell into a deep pool of sticky water, which eventually closed over her head. She saw nothing and heard nothing but a faint booming sound, which was the sound of the sea rolling over her head. While all her tormentors thought that she was dead, she was not dead, but curled up at the bottom of the sea.

I am all the time thinking about poetry and fiction and you.

To let oneself be carried on passively is unthinkable.

Ransack the language as he might, words failed him. He wanted another landscape, and another tongue.

Soup is cuisines kindest course