While Time, The endless idiot, runs screaming round the world.

But the hearts of small children are delicate organs. A cruel beginning in this world can twist them into curious shapes.

The curt truth is that, in a deep secret way, the state of being beloved is intolerable to many. The beloved fears and hates the lover, and with the best of reasons. For the lover is forever trying to strip bare his beloved. The lover craves any possible relation with the beloved, even if this experience can cause him only pain.

All men are lonely. But sometimes it seems to me that we Americans are the loneliest of all. Our hunger for foreign places and new ways has been with us almost like a national disease. Our literature is stamped with a quality of longing and unrest, and our writers have been great wanderers.

Death is the great gamer with a sleeve of tricks.

Love is the main generator of all good writing... Love, passion, compassion, are all welded together.

And the curt truth is that, in a deep secret way, the state of being loved is intolerable to many.