But I don't want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.
Maybe this world is another planet's Hell.
Marble, I perceive, covers a multitude of sins.
Can we unite against ourselves for our own higher interest?
If you want to be a psychological novelist and write about human beings, the best thing you can do is keep a pair of cats.
Single-mindedness is all very well in cows or baboons; in an animal claiming to belong to the same species as Shakespeare, it is simply disgraceful.