The noise of the trees, the breaking of moon into silver fish bouncing off the leaves of asters…
(a novel is a mirror walking down the road)
To whom do we tell what happened on the Earth, for whom do we place everywhere huge Mirrors in the hope that they will be filled up
And will stay so?
All I want is one clear word flashing with fierce light. I want it whole, complete, shining in full face.
Do not, under any circumstances, belittle a work of fiction by trying to turn it into a carbon copy of real life; what we search for in fiction is not so much reality but the epiphany of truth.
There are subtle words those are stick-insect words
There are shadow words that awake sparking with anger.
I promised to tell you how one falls in love.
Heh! Self-esteem is for sissies. Accept that you’re a pimple and try to keep a lively sense of humor about it. That way lies grace – and maybe even glory.