But the division in him was a sorrow and a torment, and he became accustomed to it only as one gets used to an unhealed and frequently reopened wound.

Literature is the art of discovering something extraordinary about ordinary people, and saying with ordinary words something extraordinary.

That's metaphysics, my dear fellow. It's forbidden me by my doctor, my stomach won't take it.

But what are pity, conscience, or fear To the brazen pair, compared With the living sorcery Of their hot embraces?

We're all time's captives, hostages to eternity.

In every generation there has to be some fool who will speak the truth as he sees it.

Immensely grateful, touched, proud, astonished, abashed.