Ultimately, literature is nothing but carpentry. With both you are working with reality, a material just as hard as wood.

Tell him,' the colonel said, smiling, 'that a person doesn’t die when he should but when he can.

One never quite stops believing, some doubt remains forever".

All my life, I've been frightened at the moment I sit down to write.

He pleaded so much that he lost his voice. His bones began to fill with words.

Fame is very agreeable, but the bad thing is that it goes on 24 hours a day.

Why do you insist on talking about what does not exist?