He was jealous of her future, and she of his past.

We are going to the moon that is not very far. Man has so much farther to go within himself.

There is not one big cosmic meaning for all, there is only the meaning we each give to our life, an individual meaning, an individual plot, like an individual novel, a book for each person.

Ordinary life does not interest me.

We sit on the kitchen exchanging these diabolical outgrowths of overfertile minds.

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

It is the function of art to renew our perception. What we are familiar with we cease to see. The writer shakes up the familiar scene, and, as if by magic, we see a new meaning in it.