...the Heart Is An Organ Of Fire.

A Man In A Desert Can Hold Absence In His Cupped Hands, Knowing It Is Something That Feeds Him More Than Water.

I Believe In Such Cartography – To Be Marked By Nature, Not Just Label Ourselves On A Map Like The Names Of Rich Men And Women On Buildings. We Are Communal Histories, Communal Books. ... All I Desired Was To Walk Upon Such An Earth That Had No Maps.

I Tend Not To Know What The Plot Is Or The Story Is Or Even The Theme. Those Things Come Later, For Me.

Research Can Be A Big Clunker. It's Difficult To Know How You Can Make The Historical Light.

He Will Hear The Rain Before He Feels It, A Clicking On The Dry Grass, On The Olive Leaves.