You give up the world line by line. Stoically. And then one day you realize that your courage is farcical. It doesn't mean anything. You've become an accomplice in your own annihilation and there is nothing you can do about it. Everything you do closes a door somewhere ahead of you. And finally there is only one door left.

All progressions from a higher to a lower order are marked by ruins and mystery and a residue of nameless rage.

Men of God and men of war have strange affinities.

You forget what you want to remember, and you remember what you want to forget.

I like what I do. Some writers have said in print that they hated writing and it was just a chore and a burden. I certainly don't feel that way about it. Sometimes it's difficult. You know, you always have this image of the perfect thing which you can never achieve, but which you never stop trying to achieve. But I think ... that's your signpost and your guide. You'll never get there, but without it you won't get anywhere.

It is personal. That's what an education does. It makes the world personal.

Fear of an enemy can often blind men to other hazards, not least the shape which they themselves make in the world.