I think that the inability to love is the central problem, because that inability masks a certain terror, and that terror is the terror of being touched. And if you can't be touched, you can't be changed. And if you can't be changed, you can't be alive.

This world is white no longer, and it will never be white again.

True rebels after all, are as rare as true lovers,and in both cases, to mistake a fever for passion can destroy one's life

Hatred is always self hatred, and there is something suicidal about it.

Any writer, I suppose, feels that the world into which he was born is nothing less than a conspiracy against the cultivation of his talent.

The hope of the world lies in what one demands, not of others, but of oneself.

The past is what makes the present coherent, and the past will remain horrible for exactly as long as we refuse to assess it honestly.