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Where I am not understood, it shall be concluded that something very useful and profound is couched underneath.

Oh, what a void there is in things.

But it's the particularity of a place, the physical experience of being in a place, that makes it onto the page. That's why I don't just do library research. I very rarely write about somewhere I haven't been.

Our time here is magic! It's the only space you have to realize whatever it is that is beautiful, whatever is true, whatever is great, whatever is potential, whatever is rare, whatever is unique, in. It's the only space.

What you leave behind is not what is engraved in stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others.

It is the function of art to renew our perception. What we are familiar with we cease to see. The writer shakes up the familiar scene, and, as if by magic, we see a new meaning in it.

Visiting a museum is a matter of going from void to void.

In many a piece of music, it's the pause or the rest that gives the piece its beauty and its shape. And I know I, as a writer, will often try to include a lot of empty space on the page so that the reader can complete my thoughts and sentences and so that her imagination has room to breathe.

Sometimes one can be so closely involved with things that the larger context is lost to view.

All experience is an arch wherethrough gleams that untravelled world whose margin fades for ever and for ever when I move.