Even if you got rid of paper, you would still have story-tellers. In fact, you had the story-tellers before you had the paper.

Worse than madness. Sanity.

The candle-buds opened their wide white flowers....Their scent spilled out into the air and took possession of the island.

The greatest pleasure is not - say - sex or geometry. It is just understanding. And if you can get people to understand their own humanity - well, that's the job of the writer.

If faces were different when lit from above or below -- what was a face? What was anything?

I don't think they [contemporary writers] read me either. I mean, if we're concerned genuinely with writing, I think we probably get on with our work.

Ralph... would treat the day's decisions as though he were playing chess. The only trouble was that he would never be a very good chess player.