At a very early stage of the novel's development I get this urge to collect bits of straw and fluff, and to eat pebbles. Nobody will ever discover how clearly a bird visualizes, or if it visualizes at all, the future nest and the eggs in it.

Solitude was corrupting me.

A toothache will cost a battle, a drizzle cancel an insurrection.

All my stories are webs of style and none seems at first blush to contain much kinetic matter.

Who can say what heartbreaks are caused in a dog by our discontinuing a romp?

Life is a message scribbled in the dark.

Caress the detail, the divine detail.