The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible.
~ Vladimir Nabokov
If only we know, boss, what the stones and rain and flowers say.Maybe they call -- call us -- and we don’t hear them.When will people’s ears open, boss?When shall we have our eyes open to see?When shall we open our arms to embrace everything -- stones, rain, flowers, and men?What d'you think about that, boss?And what do your books have to say about it.