The things of the night cannot be explained in the day, because they do not then exist.

Wine is a grand thing," I said. "It makes you forget all the bad.

'Safety', the wife of Pablo said. 'There is no such thing as safety. There are so many seeking safety here now that they make a great danger. In seeking safety now you lose all.'

In the spring mornings I would work early while my wife still slept. The windows were open wide and the cobbles of the street were drying after the rain.

Writing, at its best, is a lonely life.

Poor Faulkner. Does he really think big emotions come from big words?

Rush, that most exciting perversion of life, the necessity of accomplishing something in less time than should be truly allowed for its doing.