So we went to bed, assaulted by sleep that fumed at us from medicine glasses, or was wielded from small sweet-coated tablets -- dainty bricks of dream wrapped in the silk stockings of oblivion.
Electricity, the peril the wind sings to in the wires on a gray day.
They think I'm going to be a schoolteacher but I'm going to be a poet.
Very often the law of extremity demands an attention to irrelevance.
Writing a novel is not merely going on a shopping expedition across the border to an unreal land: it is hours and years spent in the factories, the streets, the cathedrals of the imagination.
Timmy, who made a daring escape, also made a mistake of paying the taxi driver with a check made out of toilet paper.