A Real Friendship Is A Light Thing.

I Think Every Creative Impulse That A Working Writer, Or Artist Of Any Sort Has, Comes Out Of That Dark Old Country Where Dreams Come From.

It's Unimaginable To Me That I Wouldn't Write, But It's Very Imaginable That I Won't Write For A Little While.

Walter Loves The Sea, And I Need It In Some Elemental Way That I Cannot Even Come Close To Verbalizing. I Become Dim And Shriveled Somehow At My Very Core If I Am Away From The Sea Too Long. When I Return To It I Seem To Fill Up And Overflow With It, Soaking In The Vast, Sighing Wetness Of It Like A Parched Vine In A Long, Soft Spring Rain.

I Felt Tears Sting Into My Eyes, And Took A Deep Swallow Of The First Champagne I Had Ever Tasted, Remembering That I Had Read Somewhere That The Monk Who Invented It Said, On First Tasting It, 'it Is Like Drinking Stars'.

I Think That Sometimes The Great Changes In Our Lives, The Ones That Divide Time, Happen So Deep Down And Silently That We Don't Even Know When They Occur......it Frequently Happens That The Seasons Of The Greatest Change Are The Times That Feel The Most Tranquil, The Most Suspended, The Most...timeless.