I Admire Your Capacity For Admiring.

He Had A Happy Canine Way Of Seeking Approval Without Seeming Insecure.

You Could Slap His Wrist For Saying It, But Then He Said It With His Face, And You Could Spank Him For Making Faces, But Then He Said It With His Eyes, And There Were Limits To Correction-no Way, In The End, To Penetrate Behind The Blue Irises And Eradicate A Boy's Disgust.

Fiction, I Believed, Was The Transmutation Of Experiential Dross Into Linguistic Gold. Fiction Meant Taking Up Whatever The World Had Abandoned By The Road And Making Something Beautiful Out Of It.

I'm Not Too Concerned What Happens To My Books After I'm Dead. But I Am Very Concerned By What's Going On With The Culture Of Reading And Writing Nowadays.

Once There Are Good Sentences On The Page, I Can Feel A Loyalty To Them And Start Following Their Logic, And Take Refuge From Myself.