If a writer stops observing he is finished. Experience is communicated by small details intimately observed.

The echoes of beauty you've seen transpire, Resound through dying coals of a campfire.

I drink to make other people more interesting.

I don’t. I don’t want anybody else to touch you. I’m silly. I get furious if they touch you.

I do not know what I thought Paris would be like, but it was not that way. It rained nearly every day.

It is by riding a bicycle that you learn the contours of a country best, since you have to sweat up the hills and coast down them. Thus you remember them as they actually are, while in a motor car only a high hill impresses you, and you have no such accurate remembrance of the country you have driven through as you gain by riding a bicycle.

I've been wondering about Dostoyevsky. How can a man write so badly, so unbelievably badly, and make you feel so deeply?