The Art Of Fiction Is Freedom Of

Two Things Remain Irretrievable: Time And A First Impression.

Travelers Are Fantasists, Conjurers, Seers - And What They Finally Discover Is That Every Round Object Everywhere Is A Crystal Ball: Stone, Teapot, The Marvelous Globe Of The Human Eye.

We Were Born To Die; We Were Born To Endure, On The Way To Death, Sorrow-sorrow In Manifold Shapes.

When Something Does Not Insist On Being Noticed, When We Aren't Grabbed By The Collar Or Struck On The Skull By A Presence Or An Event, We Take For Granted The Very Things That Most Deserve Our Gratitude.

Dedication To One's Work In The World Is The Only Possible Sanctifica-tion. Religion In All Its Forms Is Dedication To Someone Else's Work, Not Yours.