What I felt then I feel now: the inexorable, unchanging interior hum of doubt and hope.

literature is an instrument of a culture, not a summary of it.

What I felt then I feel now: the inexorable, unchanging interior hum of doubt and hope.

He who cries, 'What do I care about universality? I only know what is in me,' does not know even that.

Paradise is only for those who have already been there.

I can't claim to be disenchanted "with the current state of fiction" because I read so little of it. My reading is mostly drawn to history.

Old saws have no teeth.