And when the war broke out, its real horrors, its real dangers, its menace of real death were a blessing compared with the inhuman reign of the lie, and they brought relief because they broke the spell of the dead letter.

They don't ask much of you. They only want you to hate the things you love and to love the things you despise.

As far as modern writing is concerned, it is rarely rewarding to translate it, although it might be easy. Translation is very much like copying paintings.

Man is born to live, not to prepare for life.

I love you wildly, insanely, infinitely.

Our evenings are farewells. Our parties are testaments. So that the secret stream of suffering. May warm the cold of life.

... the unarmed power of naked truth.