Once freedom lights its beacon in man's heart, the gods are powerless against him.

As long as the writer cannot write for the two billion men who are hungry, he will be oppressed by a feeling of malaise.

Atheism is a cruel long term business, and I have gone through it to the end.

Once freedom lights its beacon in man's heart, the gods are powerless against him.

He was free, free in every way, free to behave like a fool or a machine, free to accept, free to refuse, free to equivocate; to marry, to give up the game, to drag this death weight about with him for years to come. He could do what he liked, no one had the right to advise him, there would be for him no Good or Evil unless he thought them into being.

This is what I thought: for the most banal even to become an adventure, you must (and this is enough) begin to recount it. This is what fools people: a man is always a teller of tales, he sees everything that happens to him through them; and he tries to live his own life as if he were telling a story. But you have to choose: live or tell.

To keep hope alive one must, in spite of all mistakes, horrors, and crimes, recognize the obvious superiority of the socialist camp.