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What literature can and should do is change the people who teach the people who don't read the books.
They took to silence. They touched each other without comment and without progression. A hand on a hand, a clothed arm, resting on an arm. An ankle overlapping an ankle, as they sat on a beach, and not removed. One night they fell asleep, side by side... He slept curled against her back, a dark comma against her pale elegant phrase.
Outside our small safe place flies mystery.
…my Solitude is my Treasure, the best thing I have.
Once you get older, people stop listening to what you say. It's very agreeable once you get used to it.
No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed.
Think of this - that the writer wrote alone, and the reader read alone, and they were alone with each other.
Once upon a time, when men and women hurtled through the air on metal wings, when they wore webbed feet and walked on the bottom of the sea, learning the speech of whales and the songs of the dolphins, when pearly-fleshed and jewelled apparitions of Texan herdsmen and houris shimmered in the dusk on Nicaraguan hillsides, when folk in Norway and Tasmania in dead of winter could dream of fresh strawberries, dates, guavas and passion fruits and find them spread next morning on their tables, there was a woman who was largely irrelevant, and therefore happy.
I think the names of colors are at the edge, between where language fails and where it's at its most powerful.
Human beings love stories because they safely show us beginnings, middles and ends.
I'm more interested in books than people, and I always expect everybody else to be, but they're not.
Lists are a form of power.
Art does not exist for politics, or for instruction- it exists primarily for pleasure, or it is nothing.
Narration is as much a part of human nature as breath and the circulation of the blood.
I think the virtue I prize above all others is curiosity.
I think vestigially there's a synesthete in me but not like a real one who immediately knows what colour Wednesday is.
Biographies are no longer written to explain or explore the greatness of the great. They redress balances, explore secret weaknesses, demolish legends.
She was a logical child, as far as children go. She did not understand how such a nice, kind, good God as the one they preyed to, could condemn the whole earth for sinfulness and flood it, or condemn his only Son to a disgusting death on behalf of everyone. This death did not seem to have done much good.
He was beautiful, that was always affirmed, but his beauty was hard to fix or to see, for he was always glimmering, flickering, melting, mixing, he was the shape of a shapeless flame, he was the eddying thread of needle-shapes in the shapeless mass of the waterfall. He was the invisible wind that hurried the clouds in billows and ribbons. You could see a bare tree on the skyline bent by the wind, holding up twisted branches and bent twigs, and suddenly its formless form would resolve itself into that of the trickster.
I'm not very interested in myself. I do have a deep moral belief that you should always look out at other things and not be self-centred.