I had slumps that lasted into the winter.
I knew it would soon be the end, so I played the part, you know, the part of — how shall I say, I don’t know.
Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.
Don't look for meaning in the words. Listen to the silences.
Words and images run riot in my head, pursuing, flying, clashing, merging, endlessly. But beyond this tumult there is a great calm, and a great indifference, never really to be troubled by anything again.
That's the mistake I made, one of the mistakes, to have wanted a story for myself, whereas life alone is enough.
Perhaps that's what I feel, an outside and an inside and me in the middle, perhaps that's what I am, the thing that divides the world in two, on the one side the outside, on the other the inside, that can be as thin as foil, I'm neither one side nor the other, I'm in the middle, I'm the partition, I've two surfaces and no thickness, perhaps that's what I feel, myself vibrating, I'm the tympanum, on the one hand the mind, on the other the world, I don't belong to either.
Basically, fiction is people. You can't write fiction about ideas.
Biblically, waiting is not just something we have to do until we get what we want. Waiting is part of the process of becoming what God wants us to be.
Bullies enjoy dark happiness; these are the blank parts that eventually fill their minds with nothingness.
One thing we can do really well for our students is to help them figure out their identity.