There was no particular point at which I stopped being promising.

Succeed! It has been done, and with a stupidity that can astound the most experienced.

The aim of literature ... is the creation of a strange object covered with fur which breaks your heart.

The best way to live is by not knowing what will happen to you at the end of the day.

Goals incapable of attainment have driven many a man to despair, but despair is easier to get to than that -- one need merely look out of the window, for example.

Endings are elusive, middles are nowhere to be found, but worst of all is to begin, to begin, to begin.

--Why are we fighting them? --They're mad. We're sane. --How do we know? --That we're sane? --Yes. --Am I sane? --To all appearances. --And you, do you consider yourself sane? --I do. --Well, there you have it. --But don't they also consider themselves sane? --I think they know. Deep down. That they're not sane. --How must that make them feel? --Terrible, I should think. They must fight ever more fiercely, in order to deny what they know to be true. That they are not sane.