I should like to write about what happens when fictive people encounter and are embellished by real people.

Remember, all of man's happiness is in the little valleys. Tiny little ones. Small enough to call from one side to the other.

There are also times in life when a person has to rush off in pursuit of hopefulness.

I have always hated crowds. I like deserts, prisons, and monasteries. I have discovered, too, that there are fewer idiots at 3000 meters above sea level than down below.

I should like to write about what happens when fictive people encounter and are embellished by real people.

The Italians are said to be noisy and to gesticulate, but that is a libel dreamed up by the English.

When I reflect that one man, armed only with his own physical and moral resources, was able to cause this land of Canaan to spring from the wasteland, I am convinced that in spite of everything, humanity is admirable. But when I compute the unfailing greatness of spirit and the tenacity of benevolence that it must have taken to achieve this result, I am taken with an immense respect for that old and unlearned peasant who was able to complete a work worthy of God.