That sun, that light had faded, and she had faded with them. Now she was as grey as the season itself.

Great writers are the saints for the godless.

For once a thing is known, it can never be unknown. It can only be forgotten.

The lessons taught in great books are misleading. The commerce in life is rarely so simple and never so just.

To remain pure, a novel has to cast a moral puzzle. Anything else is mere negotiation.

What is interesting about self-analysis is that it leads nowhere - it is an art form in itself.

Writing novels preserves you in a state of innocence - a lot passes you by - simply because your attention is otherwise diverted.