It's his word against the Commander's, unless he wants to head a posse. Kick in the door, and what did I tell you? Caught in the act, sinfully Scrabbling. Quick, eat those words.

The truth, it seems, is not just what you find when you open a door: it is itself a door, which the poet is always on the verge of going through.

The past is a closed door.

Every novel is-at the beginning-the same opening of a door onto a completely unknown space.