The Summer Stretched Out The Daylight As

London Is An Endless Skirmish Between Angles And Emptiness.

I Love It When People Want To Interpret My Books.

I Couldn't Tell If I Was Perspicacious Or Paranoid.

I Do, However, Feel Reasonably Strongly The Sense That The Job Of A Piece Of Argumentative Scholarly Non-fiction Is Not The Same As The Job Of A Piece Of Fiction.

Old Stories Would Tell How Weavers Would Kill Each Other Over Aesthetic Disagreements, Such As Whether It Was Prettier To Destroy An Army Of A Thousand Men Or To Leave It Be, Or Whether A Particular Dandelion Should Or Should Not Be Plucked. For A Weaver, To Think Was To Think Aesthetically. To Act - To Weave - Was To Bring About More Pleasing Patterns. They Did Not Eat Physical Food: They Seemed To Subsist On The Appreciation Of Beauty.