The paternalist is a sentimentalist at heart, and the sentimentalist is always potentially cruel.

Every writer has certain subjects that they write about again and again, and . . . most people's books are just variations on certain themes.

The talk of pale, burning-eyed students, anarchists and utopians all, over tea and cigarettes in a locked room long past midnight, is next morning translated, with the literalness of utter innocence, into the throwing of the bomb, the shouting of the proud slogan, the dragging away of the young dreamer-doer, still smiling, to the dungeon and the firing squad.

One should never write down or up to people, but out of yourself.

The Quito telephone service is about as reliable as roulette.

The past is just something that's over.

What’s so phony nowadays is all this familiarity. Pretending there isn’t any difference between people —well, like you were saying about minorities, this morning. If you and I are no different, what do we have to give each other? How can we ever be friends?