Where was I going? I puzzled and wondered about it til I actually enjoyed the puzzlement and wondering.

His books were part of him. Each year of his life, it seemed, his books became more and more a part of him. This room, thirty by twenty feet, and the walls of shelves filled with books, had for him the murmuring of many voices. In the books of Herodotus, Tacitus, Rabelais, Thomas Browne, John Milton, and scores of others, he had found men of face and voice more real to him than many a man he had met for a smoke and a talk.

There are some people who can receive a truth by no other way than to have their understanding shocked and insulted.

There was always the consolation that if I didn't like what I wrote I could throw it away or burn it.

I cried over beautiful things, knowing no beautiful thing lasts.

Shame is the feeling you have when you agree with the woman who loves you that you are the man she thinks you are.

The sea is always the same: and yet the sea always changes.