Violence commands both literature and life, and violence is always crude and distorted.
It was a perfect spring afternoon, and the air was filled with vague, roving scents, as if the earth exhaled the sweetness of hidden flowers.
I'm not going to lie down and let trouble walk over me.
No one in the modern world is more lonely than the writer with a literary conscience.
for my own purpose, I defined the art of fiction as experience illuminated.
anger and jealousy are spasms of the nerves, not of the heart.