I wait. Now the night flows back, the mighty stillness embraces and includes me; I can see the stars again and the world of starlight. I am twenty miles or more from the nearest fellow human, but instead of loneliness I feel loveliness. Loveliness and a quiet exultation.

My notion of a great novel is something like a five-hundred-page shaggy-dog story, with only the punch line omitted.

Writing on the wall: Will trade three blind crabs for two with no teeth.

By the age of eighteen, a human has acquired enough joy and heartache to provide the food of reflection for a century.

Each thing in its way, when true to its own character, is equally beautiful. (p 41)

Some people write to please, to soothe, to console. Others to provoke, to challenge, to exasperate and infuriate. I've always found the second approach the more pleasing.

When guns are outlawed, only the Government will have guns. The Government - and a few outlaws. If that happens, you can count me among the outlaws.