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You will remember me for what I truly am: A God!

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A. S. Byatt

The individual appears for an instant, joins the community of thought, modifies it and dies; but the species, that dies not, reaps the fruit of his ephemeral existence.

Community, Ephemeral, Existence, Reaps, Species, Wisdom
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What literature can and should do is change the people who teach the people who don't read the books.

Book, Books, Change, People

They took to silence. They touched each other without comment and without progression. A hand on a hand, a clothed arm, resting on an arm. An ankle overlapping an ankle, as they sat on a beach, and not removed. One night they fell asleep, side by side. . . He slept curled against her back, a dark comma against her pale elegant phrase.

Beach, Comma, Curled, Dark, Night, Progression

No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed.

Consumed, Fire, Humans, Mere, Possession, Stand

Biographies are no longer written to explain or explore the greatness of the great. They redress balances, explore secret weaknesses, demolish legends.

Balance, Explain, Greatness, Secret, Weaknesses, Written

Once upon a time, when men and women hurtled through the air on metal wings, when they wore webbed feet and walked on the bottom of the sea, learning the speech of whales and the songs of the dolphins, when pearly-fleshed and jewelled apparitions of Texan herdsmen and houris shimmered in the dusk on Nicaraguan hillsides, when folk in Norway and Tasmania in dead of winter could dream of fresh strawberries, dates, guavas and passion fruits and find them spread next morning on their tables, there was a woman who was largely irrelevant, and therefore happy.

Dream, Morning, Song, Texan, Webbed
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