And in the dream I knew that he was goin on ahead and that he was fixin to make a fire somewhere out there in all that dark and all that cold and I knew that whenever I got there he would be there. And then I woke up.

I ain't got an original thought in my head. If it ain't got the scent of divinity to it, I ain't interested in it

I don't know why I started writing. I don't know why anybody does it. Maybe they're bored, or failures at something else.

If a man's at odds to know his own mind it's because he hasn't got aught but his mind to know it with.

The passing of armies and the passing of sands in the desert are one.

Easy to see that naught save sorrow could bring a man to such a view of things. And yet a sorrow for which there can be no help is no sorrow. It is some dark sister traveling in sorrow's clothing. Men do not turn from God so easily you see. Not so easily. Deep in each man is the knowledge that something knows of his existence. Something knows, and cannot be fled nor hid from. To imagine otherwise is to imagine the unspeakable. It was never that this man ceased to believe in God. No. It was rather that he came to believe terrible things of Him.

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