For So Many Centuries, The Exchange Of

Sometimes A Person Needs A Story More Than Food To Stay Alive.

The Writer Works On The Inside And The Critic Works On The Outside. I Don't Know What It Looks Like On The Outside, Sometimes. It's Not That I'm Not Interested-it's Not Where I Live. I Live Inside The Story.

One Of The Great Dreams Of Man Must Be To Find Some Place Between The Extremes Of Nature And Civilization Where It Is Possible To Live Without Regret.

Would The Last Animal, Eating Garbage And Living On The Last Scrap Of Land, His Mate Dead, Would He Still Forgive You?

You Can't Learn Anything From Saguaro Cactus, From Ocotillo. They Are Just Passing Through; Their Roots, Their Much Heralded Dormancy In The Dry Season, These Are Only Illusions Of Permanence. They Know Even Less Than You Do.