A writer is a strange instrument of our species, a harp of sorts, fine-tuned to the dark contradictions of life.

I've begun to realize that you can listen to silence and learn from it. It has a quality and a dimension all its own.

Art begins . . . when someone interprets, when someone sees the world through his own eyes. Art happens when what is seen becomes mixed with the inside of the person who is seeing it.

It is inconceivable to me that a million or three million or half a million human beings will think and feel precisely the same way on any single subject.

No one knows he is fortunate until he becomes unfortunate, that's the way the world is.

Seeds must be sown everywhere. Only some will bear fruit. But there would not be the fruit from the few had the many not been sown

As a species we are always hungry for new knowledge.