For the man who thought he was Man there is no salvation.

My confidence in the future of literature consists in the knowledge that there are things that only literature can give us, by means specific to it.

I’m reading! I don’t want to be disturbed!

Myth is the hidden part of every story, the buried part, the region that is still unexplored because there are as yet no words to enable us to get there. Myth is nourished by silence as well as by words.

Nobody these days holds the written word in such high esteem as police states do.

Every new book I read comes to be a part of that overall and unitary book that is the sum of my readings...if you need little to set the imagination going, I require even less: the promise of reading is enough.

They knew each other. He knew her and so himself, for in truth he had never known himself. And she knew him and so herself, for although she had always known herself she had never been able to recognize it until now.