Just as music is noise that makes sense, a painting is colour that makes sense, so a story is life that makes sense.
Henry had written a novel because there was a hole in him that needed filling, a question that needed answering, a patch of canvas that needed painting—that blend of anxiety, curiosity and joy that is at the origin of art—and he had filled the ho...
Afterwards, when it's all over, you meet God. What do you say to God?
Life and death live and die in exactly the same spot, the body.
To my mind, faith is like being in the sun. When you are in the sun, can you avoid creating a shadow? Can you shake that area of darkness that clings to you, always shaped like you, as if constantly to remind you of yourself? You can’t. This shadow...
...he found it where he should have looked first, on the Internet, which is a net indeed, one that can be cast further than the eye can see and be retrieved no matter how heavy the hall, its magical mesh never breaking under the strain but always bri...
Remember that your days on this earth are counted and you might as well make the best of those you have left.
Art is rooted in joy.
Just as music is noise that makes sense, a painting is color that makes sense, so a story is life that makes sense.
Was it the forgetfulness of old age or personal incapacity that made the man able to say please but not thank you?
Slice a pear and you will find that its flesh is incandescent white. It glows with inner light. Those who carry a knife and a pear are never afraid of the dark.
Stories--individual stories, family stories, national stories--are what stitch together the disparate elements of human existence into a coherent whole. We are story animals.
As for fame, fame felt like nothing. Fame was not a sensation like love or hunger or loneliness, welling from within and invisible to the outside eye. It was rather entirely external, coming from the minds of others. It existed in the way people look...
