You may talk. And I may listen. And miracles might happen.

Never sit a table when you can stand at the bar.

Since I had started to break down all my writing and get rid of all facility and try to make instead of describe, writing had been wonderful to do.

The further you go in writing the more alone you are.

No well-run yacht basin in Southern waters is complete without at least two sun-burned, salt bleached-headed Esthonians who are waiting for a check from their last article. When it comes they will set sail to another yacht basin and write another saga.

The world is a fine place and worth the fighting for and I hate very much to leave it.

It was like certain dinners I remember from the war. There was much wine, an ignored tension, and a feeling of things coming that you could not prevent happening. Under the wine I lost the disgusted feeling and was happy. It seemed they were all such nice people.