And just as music is the space between notes, just as the stars are beautiful because of the space between them, just as the sun strikes raindrops at a certain angle and throws a prism of color across the sky—so the space where I exist, and want to keep existing, and to be quite frank I hope I die in, is exactly this middle distance: where despair struck pure otherness and created something sublime.

But it's for every writer to decide his own pace, and the pace varies with the writer and the work

Everything takes me longer than I expect. It's the sad truth about life

But how,” said Charles, who was close to tears, “how can you possibly justify cold-blooded murder?’ Henry lit a cigarette. “I prefer to think of it,” he had said, “as redistribution of matter.

...with a grief no less sharp for not being intimate with its object.

When you feel homesick,’ he said, ‘just look up. Because the moon is the same wherever you go.

There is nothing wrong with the love of Beauty. But Beauty-unless she is wed to something more meaningful-is always superficial