"When I was about three years old... I realised that words could move the power in a room." — Ben Okri

"A writer's task is not merely to describe the world but to deepen our way of seeing it."

"Writing is a way of paying attention to life."

What if by sheer repetition we become the person we most often pretend to be? Does that mean there is no authentic self? Are we made of habits, compressed by time, like layered rocks?