I work with language. I love the flowers of afterthought.

The past exudes legend: one can't make pure clay of time's mud.

For misery don't blame God. He gives the food but we cook it.

Reader, I am myself the subject of my book; you would be unreasonable to spend your leisure on so frivolous and so vain a matter.

Writers who can't invent stories often substitute style for narrative. They remind me of the painter who couldn't paint people, so he painted chairs.

We have two lives, the life we learn with and the life we live with after that. Suffering is what brings us toward happiness.

A man had to learn, it was his nature.