If I’m at a book signing, and someone decides to take me to task, it can make for quite a sticky moment.
I cannot outline. I do not know what the next thing is going to happen in the book until it comes out of my fingers.
There is no Frigate like a book to take us lands away nor any coursers like a page of prancing Poetry.
In addition, we were unable to meet openly to discuss the progress of the book, for we were both on the list of persons banned from communicating with other banned persons.
I suppose what’s happened recently has confirmed suspicions I voiced in the book, and I think made clearer some of those things that I point out. For instance I have a section of the book where I talk about the possibility of torture.
I think the market is always going to be around. The goal is not to say, let’s get rid of the market, because the market does render a huge number of services, and I don’t want to have a fight about the price of something every time I buy a book or a bottle of water.
If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry.
It’s so tedious writing cookbooks or writing the recipes because I’ve never been much of a measurer. But to write a book, you have to measure everything.
You cannot open a book without learning something.
The term ‘epitaph’ itself means ‘something to be spoken at a burial or engraved upon a tomb.’ When an epitaph is a poem written for a tomb, and appears in a book, we are aware that we are not reading it in its proper form: we are reading a reproduction. The original of the epitaph is the tomb itself, with its words cut into the stone.