Fatality makes us invisible.

Intrigued by that enigma, he dug so deeply into her sentiments that in search of interest he found love, because by trying to make her love him he ended up falling in love with her.

Time was not passing...it was turning in a circle.

But he could not renounce his infinite capacity for illusion at the very moment he needed it most... he saw fireflies where there were none.

Life is not what one lived, but what One remembers and how One remembers it in order to recount it

Disbelief is more resistant than faith because it is sustained by the senses.

Faulkner is a writer who has had much to do with my soul, but Hemingway is the one who had the most to do with my craft - not simply for his books, but for his astounding knowledge of the aspect of craftsmanship in the science of writing.