No one has the right to enter literature without fresh new ideas. We’ve got too many dexterous drudges as it is.

The two men were greedily hunched over the table, like two wolves disputing a carcass, but their muttered speech in the echoing hall resembled more the grunting of pigs. One was less than a wolf: he was a public prosecutor. The other was more than a pig, he was a chief commissioner of police.

At least when one speaks of oneself one is passionate, well-informed and specific.

I know that no reader ever asks a question. A writer must force his favors upon his readers.

Men are jealous of every woman, even when they don’t have the slightest interest in her themselves.

I hear there are people who actually enjoy moving. Sounds like a disease to me - they must be unstable. Though it does have it’s poetry, I’ll allow that. When an old dwelling starts looking desolate, a mixture of regret and anxiety comes over us and we feel like we are leaving a safe harbor for the rolling sea. As for the new place, it looks on us with alien eyes, it has nothing to say to us, it is cold.

No one has the right to enter literature without fresh new ideas. We’ve got too many dexterous drudges as it is.