There was a skyness to the sky and a nowness to the world that he had never seen or felt or realized before.

The autumn twilight turned into deep and early night as they walked. Tristran could smell the distant winter on the air--a mixture of night-mist and crisp darkness and the tang of fallen leaves.

We wrapped our dreams in words and patterned the words so that they would live forever, unforgettable.

The world seemed to shimmer a little at the edges.

I think all - or the ones thet I've run into - tend to have a faintly tenuous relationship with the real world, because so much is going on on the inside. They may be geniuses but they often need someone to walk around holding a string. They're sort of balloons, bobbing around.

Now there were stars overhead, hanging like frozen spears of light, stabbing the night sky.