Any man's life, told truly, is a novel.

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

So this was how you died, in whispers that you did not hear.

I don't like to leave anything,' the man said. 'I don't like to leave things behind.

No one should be alone in their old age, he thought.

When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest.

Find the best writers, pay them to write, and avoid typos at all costs.