I had an inheritance from my father, It was the moon and the sun. And though I roam all over the world, The spending of it’s never done.

For him it was a dark passage which led to nowhere, then to nowhere, then again to nowhere, once again to nowhere, always and forever to nowhere, heavy on the elbows in the earth to nowhere, dark, never any end to nowhere, hung on all time always to unknowing nowhere, this time and again for always to nowhere, now not to be borne once again always and to nowhere, now beyond all bearing up, up, up and into nowhere, suddenly, scaldingly, holdingly all nowhere gone and time absolutely still and they were both there, time having stopped and he felt the earth move out and away from under them.

He could beat anything, he thought, because no thing could hurt him if he did not care.

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

To hell with them. Nothing hurts if you don't let it.

Never confuse motions with action.

I think you should learn about writing from everybody who has ever written that has anything to teach you