Knowledge of what you love somehow comes to you; you don’t have to read nor analyze nor study. If you love a thing enough, knowledge of it seeps into you, with particulars more real than any chart can furnish.

I am always jumping into the sausage grinder and deciding, even before I’m half ground, that I don’t want to be a sausage after all.

Writing is so difficult that I feel that writers, having had their hell on earth, will escape all punishment hereafter.

With enough libraries, all content is free.

It is the loving, not the loved, woman who feels loveable.

Nothing is so dear as what you're about to leave.

The emotion, the ecstasy of love, we all want, but God spare us the responsibility.