Endless Roads

For a while it was love, then it was like love, then it was over.

"Your mind can be your best friend; it can keep you amused even when there's nothing to read, nothing to do. But it can turn on you when it's left with no input for too long. It can turn on you, which means that it turns on itself, savages itself, perhaps consumes itself in an unthinkable act of auto-cannibalism."

"October is the time when men think mostly about far places and the roads which might get them there."

Terror is the widening of perspective and perception.

You know what talent is? The curse of expectation.

The Day is Done

"Here will I dwell, for heaven be in these lips."

Where did the steed go? Where the young warrior? Where the treasure-giver? Where the seats of fellowship? Where the hall’s festivity?

"He sometimes believed that the compulsion to make fiction was no more than a bulwark against confusion, maybe even insanity. It was a desperate imposition of order by people able to find that precious stuff only in their minds . . . never in their hearts."

"Time's a reach, too, you know, just like the one that lies between the islands and the mainland, but the only ferry that can cross it is memory, and that's like a ghost-ship—if you want it to disappear, after awhile it will."