What with making their way and enjoying what they have won, heroes have no time to think. But the sons of heroes - ah, they have all the necessary leisure.

The poet's place, it seems to me, is with the Mr. Hydes of human nature.

Liberty? Why it doesn't exist. There is no liberty in this world, just gilded cages.

One thinks one's something unique and wonderful at the center of the universe, when in fact one's just a slight interruption in the ongoing march of entropy.

The business of a seer is to see; and if he involves himself in the kind of God-eclipsing activities which make seeing impossible, he betrays the trust which his fellows have tacitly placed in him.

When truth is nothing but truth, it's unnatural, it's an abstraction that resembles nothing in the real world.

Only a person with a Best Seller mind can write Best Sellers.