Proverbs are the palm-oil with which words are eaten.

A good short story would take me out of myself and then stuff me back in, outsized, now, and uneasy with the fit.

When you learn another language deeply you grow another self completely.

The moment of recognition happens as if by magic; and yet, when we reflect on it, we see – its very name tells us this – that it is impossible without prior experience.

Metaphor is a part of the not-knowing aspect of art, and yet I’m firmly convinced that it is the supreme way of searching for truth. How can this be?

“… those who think metaphorically are enabled to think truly because the shape of their thinking echoes the shape of the world.

If we are unhappy and discontented with things as they are; the fault lies not in our friends or our neighbours, but in ourselves – for we get out of this good old world only what we put into it; nothing more and nothing less.

Any metaphor is comprehensible only to the extent that the domains from which it is drawn are familiar.

You don’t see something until you have the right metaphor to let you perceive it.

Debate doesn’t really change things. It gets you bogged in deeper. If you can address or reopen the subject with something new, something from a different angle, then there is some hope. … People are suddenly gazing at something else and pausing for a moment. And for the duration of that gaze and pause, they are like reflectors of the totality of their own knowledge and/or ignorance. . That’s something poetry can do for you, it can entrance you for a moment above the pool of your own consciousness and your own possibilities.