Once I lived in time as a fish in water, breathing it, drinking it, sustained by it. Now I kill time and time kills me.

When we are stirred to lament the loss of the gods, it is more than likely the gods who are doing the stirring.

All over the world, as governments retreat from their traditional duty to foster the common good and reconceive of themselves as mere managers of national economies, universities have been coming under pressure to turn themselves into training schools equipping young people with the skills required by a modern economy.

The end of confession is to tell the truth to and for oneself.

The idea of writer as sage is pretty much dead today. I would certainly feel very uncomfortable in the role.

His mouth opens. From inside him comes a slow stream, without breath, without interruption. It flows up through his body and out upon me; it passes through the cabin, through the wreck; washing the cliffs and shores of the island, it runs northward and southward to the ends of the earth. Soft and cold, dark and unending, it beats against my eyelids, against the skin of my face.

She gives him what he can only call a sweet smile. 'So you are determined to go on being bad. Mad, bad, and dangerous to know. I promise, no one will ask you to change.