True goodness is an inward grace, not an outward necessity.
No one in the modern world is more lonely than the writer with a literary conscience.
The only natural human beings seem to be those who are making trouble.
Nothing is more consuming, or more illogical, than the desire for remembrance.
No matter how vital experience might be while you lived it, no sooner was it ended and dead than it became as lifeless as the piles of dry dust in a school history book.
O God, let me write books! Please, God, let me write books!