“Let us begin with a simple line,Drawn as a child would draw it, To indicate the horizon,More real than the real horizon,Which is less than line,Which is visible abstraction, a ratio.The line ravishes the page with implicationsOf white earth, white sky!”

“Dawn in Mongolia was an amazing thing. In one instant, the horizon became a faint line suspended in the darkness, and then the line was drawn upward, higher and higher. It was as if a giant hand had stretched down from the sky and slowly lifted the curtain of night from the face of the earth. It was a magnificent sight, far greater in scale...than anything that I, with my limited human faculties, could fully comprehend.”

“In white, everything was vividly stark, like those line drawings in which everyone's black hair seems to literally to grow from the paper.”

“Suddenly, I saw ocean again—then another horizon line—but this time the deep blue sky was on the wrong side of the line…the Holy crap, we’re upside down side.”

“Menacing lines of black tomorrows on the horizon.”

“Was it not I who populated with them all these pages—just recently no more than white rectangular deserts? Without me, would they ever be seen by those whom I shall lead behind me along the narrow paths of lines?”