He had known so much about her once -what she thought, how she felt, the reasons for her actions. And now he only knew that he loved her, and all the other knowledge seemed passing from him just as he needed it most.

I'm a holy man minus the holiness.

We are all like Scheherazade's husband, in that we want to know what happens next.

But nothing in India is identifiable, the mere asking of a question causes it to disappear or to merge in something else.

Men were not gods after all, but as human and as clumsy as girls.

It is thus, if there is any rule, that we ought to die--neither as victim nor as fanatic, but as the seafarer who can greet with an equal eye the deep that he is entering, and the shore that he must leave.

So, two cheers for Democracy: one because it admits variety and two because it permits criticism.