Faith, to my mind, is a stiffening process, a sort of mental starch.
Why children?' he asked. 'Why always children? For love to end where it begins is far more beautiful, and Nature knows it.
One must be fond of people and trust them if one is not to make a mess of life.
I'm a holy man minus the holiness.
The sadness of the incomplete, the sadness that is often Life, but should never be Art.
Human beings have their great chance in the novel.