Do you run away or toward?

Why is it," she asked, snuggling closer, "that I so often imagine myself running away and running free?

My dream has always been to suspend myself in space when I write, and lying horizontal in bed is the closest to doing that.

A book is still atemporal. It is you, in silence, hearing voices in your head, unfolding at a time that has nothing to do with the timescale of reading. And for the hours that we retreat into this moratorium, with the last form of private and silent human activity that isn't considered pathological, we are outside of time.

The desire to live in our imagination is driven by this suspicion that we're disembodied sensibilities cobbled into our bodies. That idea has infused most of human thought since the very beginning.

I don't know any sad songs. Except for the funny ones.