The people who pretend that dying is rather like strolling into the next room always leave me unconvinced. Death, like birth, must be a tremendous event.

Man, the creature who knows he must die, who has dreams larger than his destiny, who is forever working a confidence trick on himself, needs an ally. Mine has been tobacco.

We are members of one body. We are responsible for each other.

She was a handsome woman of forty-five and would remain so for many years.

We plan, we toil, we suffer - in the hope of what? A camel-load of idol's eyes? The title deeds of Radio City? The empire of Asia? A trip to the moon? No, no, no, no. Simply to wake just in time to smell coffee and bacon and eggs.

If there is one thing left that I would like to do, it's to write something really beautiful. And I could do it, you know. I could still do it.

To put failure behind you, face up to it.