The bards sing of love, they celebrate slaughter, they extol kings and flatter queens, but were I a poet I would write in praise of friendship.

Latin! The language of God! Or perhaps He speaks Hebrew? I suppose that's more likely and it will make things rather awkward in heaven, won't it? Will we all have to learn Hebrew?

We don't build,' I said to my son, 'we just destroy.

At risk of sounding foully pompous I think that writers' groups are probably very useful at the beginning of a writing career.

Of course some days are easier than others, but my worst day is better than being in most humdrum occupations.

Madness ends sometimes. The Gods decree it, not man.

Pride makes a man, it drives him, it is the shield wall around his reputation... Men die, they said, but reputation does not die.