Character is plot, plot is character.

It appears that every man's insomnia is as different from his neighbours as are their daytime hopes and aspirations.

The reason one writes isn't the fact he wants to say something. He writes because he has something to say.

Life was a damned muddle - a football game with everyone offside and the referee gotten rid of - everyone claiming the referee would have been on his side.

I'm a cynical idealist.

The unwelcome November rain had perversely stolen the day's last hour and pawned it with that ancient fence, the night.

The hangover became a part of the day as well allowed-for as the Spanish siesta.