Words form the thread on which we string our experiences.

The words we use shape our reality. They are the blueprint for our experiences.

Words form the thread on which we string our experiences.” — ALDOUS HUXLEY

The words of the world want to make sentences.

Words create worlds.

Sentences must stir in a book like leaves in a forest, each distinct from each despite their resemblance.

Where do the words go
when we have said them?

You begin to string words together like beads to tell a story. You are desperate to communicate, to edify or entertain, to preserve moments of grace or joy or transcendence, to make real or imagined events come alive. But you cannot will this to happen. It is a matter of persistence and faith and hard work. So you might as well just go ahead and get started.

As simple an act as reading or writing a sentence must be surrounded by perceptory nap and weave . . . an itch, a stray memory from childhood, the distant sound of a barking dog, or something left over from the lunch that is found caught between the teeth.

We spent our whole lives in unconsous excercise of the art of expressing our thoughts with the help of words

For we are all bound in stories, and as the years pile up they turn to stone, layer upon layer, building our lives.

Every word first looks around in every direction before letting itself be written down by me.

The young writer should learn to spot them: words that at first glance seem freighted with delicious meaning, but that soon burst in the air, leaving nothing but a memory of bright sound.

Because in real life, unlike in history books, stories come to us not in their entirety but in bits and pieces, broken segments and partial echoes, a full sentence here, a fragment there, a clue hidden in between. in life, unlike in books, we have to weave our stories out of threads as fine as the gossamer veins that run through a butterfly's wings.