Politics isn't in my nature.

A man is an island in the only sense that matters, not an easy way to be. We live in mystery, a cosmos of separate lonely bodies, men, insects, stars. It is all loneliness and men know it best.

If your train's on the wrong track every station you come to is the wrong station.

We're persecuted in the most civilized languages.

Overnight business could go down enough to hurt; yet as a rule it slowly recovered-sometimes it seemed to take forever-went up, not high enough to be really up, only not down.

A writer has to surprise himself to be worth reading.

Where to look if you've lost your mind?