My mistress has come home; at last I've seen her. Now I'm ready to die.

Nature's law says that the strong must prevent the weak from living, but only in a newspaper article or textbook can this be packaged into a comprehensible thought. In the soup of everyday life, in the mixture of minutia from which human relations are woven, it is not a law. It is a logical incongruity when both strong and weak fall victim to their mutual relations, unconsciously subservient to some unknown guiding power that stands outside of life, irrelevant to man.

Not one of our mortal gauges is suitable for evaluating non-existence, for making judgments about that which is not a person.

There are plenty of good people, but only a very, very few are precise and disciplined.

And what does it mean -- dying? Perhaps man has a hundred senses, and only the five we know are lost at death, while the other ninety-five remain alive.

A writer should not so much write as embroider on paper; the work should be painstaking, laborious.

The problem is that we attempt to solve the simplest questions cleverly, thereby rendering them unusually complex. One should seekthe simple solution.