[My father] loved me tenderly and shyly from a distance, and later on took a naive pride in seeing my name in print.

Death tripped down the corridor, changing step, struck out here and there, danced pirouettes; often I felt his breath on my face when he was miles away; often I fell asleep and dreamed while he stood leaning over my bed.

The thing represented had to pass through two distorting lenses: the artist's mind, and his medium of expression, before it emerged as a man-made dream - the two, of course, being intimately connected and interacting with each other.

Coincidence may be described as the chance encounter of two unrelated causal chains which - miraculously, it seems - merge into a significant event.

Adolescence is a kind of emotional seasickness. Both are funny, but only in retrospect.

The moment of truth, the sudden emergence of a new insight, is an act of intuition.

What is an editor but a cross between a fall guy and a father figure? arthur koestler