We are supposed to be the children of Seth; but Seth is too much of an effete nonentity to deserve ancestral regard. No, we are the sons of Cain, and with violence can be associated the attacks on sound, stone, wood and metal that produced civilization.

The writer's life seethes within but not without.

Death comes along like a gas bill one can't pay.

Language exists less to record the actual than to liberate the imagination.

As we grow older, the memories of early life brighten, those of maturity and senescence grow dim and confused.

If you expect the worst from a person you can never be disappointed.

...the essential intention is the real sin. A man who cannot choose ceases to be a man.