Nothing is loathsomer than the self-loathing of a self one loathes.
If you are a novelist of a certain type of termperament, then what you really want to do is re-invent the world. God wasn't too bad a novelist except he was a Realist.
More history is made by secret handshakes than by battles, bills and proclamations.
Choosing is existence. To the extent that you don't choose, you don't exist.
Everyone is necessarily the hero of his own life story.
I particularly scorn my fondness for paradox. I despise pessimism, narcissism, solipsism, truculence, word-play, and pusillanimity, my chiefer inclinations; loathe self-loathers ergo me; have no pity for self-pity and so am free of that sweet baseness. I doubt I am. Being me’s no joke.