The myth of unlimited production brings war in its train as inevitably as clouds announce a storm.

But when a man has had only four hours' sleep he isn't sentimental. He sees things as they are: that is to say, he sees them in the garish light of justice; hideous, witless justice.

What's natural is the microbe. All the rest-heath, integrity, purity (if you like)-is a product of the human will, of a vigilance that must never falter. The good man, the man who infects hardly anyone, is the man who has the fewest lapses of attention.

The purpose of a writer is to keep civilization from destroying itself.

They hurt each other without wanting to, just because each represented to the others the cruel and demanding necessity of their lives.

A guilty conscience needs to confess. A work of art is a confession.

Have pity, Lord, on those who love and are separated.