“An artisan without memories, whose only dream was to die of fatigue in the oblivion and misery of his little gold fishes.”

“I catch a flash of red-gold beneath the surface of the water, and realize that there are koi in the pond, massive, serene, and I wonder: are they dreams of fish, or fish who dream?”

“Stay gold, Ponyboy. Stay gold . . .” The pillow seemed to sink a little, and Johnny died.”

“Every man has to die. Choosing oblivion is the only way of triumphing over this.”

“...and he would have also to endure his book like a form of fatigue, to accept it like a discipline, build it up like a church, follow it like a medical regime, vanquish it like an obstacle, win it like a friendship, cosset it like a little child, create it like a new world without neglecting those mysteries whose explanation is to be found probably only in worlds other than our own and the presentiment of which is the thing that moves us most deeply in life and in art.”

“dream interpretation were ways of converting our little personal miseries into big robust myths”