Prowling his own quiet backyard or asleep by the fire, he is still only a whisker away from the wilds.

A dog, I have always said, is prose; a cat is a poem.

Watch a cat when it enters a room for the first time. It searches and smells about, it is not quiet for a moment, it trusts nothing until it has examined and made acquaintance with everything.

Asking an artist to talk about his work is like asking a plant to discuss horticulture.

Here I am trying to live, or rather, I am trying to teach the death within me how to live.

You can never be too thin, too rich, or have too many books.