I mean, evil and boredom. Evil and ennui. Evil and the lack of stimulation. Evil and sluggish blood.

When I write a book, I write very cleanly from page one to the last page. I hardly ever write out of sequence.

Old Flossie settle down on the other side of What-the-Dickens and dragged some handiwork out of a sack. She armed herself with two thorns shaped into knitting needles. A wodge of curlicued metallic scrubbing pad supplied the threat. 'I knit handcuffs as a hobby,' explained Old Flossie happily, and set to work. 'Idle hands get up to no good, so I like to be prepared in case I meet up with any idle hands.

All our lives are activity without meaning; we burrow ratlike into life and we squirm ratlike through it and ratlike we are flung into our graves at the end. Now and then, why shouldn't we hear a voice of prophecy.

The devil is a very big angel, but a very little man.

To consider what other people might say is hardly a good reason to take action or to defer it. You have your own life to live, Iris, and at its end, the only opinion that amounts to anything is that which God bestows

The body apologizes to the soul for its errors, and the soul asks forgiveness for squatting in the body without invitation.