Between skin and skin, there is only light.

...all cynicism masks a failure to cope.

He felt himself in suspension between the two worlds, the warm, neat civilization behind his back, the cool, dark mystery outside. We all write poems; it is simply that poets are the ones who write in words.

How can one build a better self unless on the ruins of the old?

Duty is but a pot. It holds whatever is put in it, from the greatest evil to the greatest good.

That is the great distinction between the sexes. Men see objects, women see the relationships between objects.

Only one same reason is shared by all of us: we wish to create worlds as real as, but other than the world that is. Or was. This is why we cannot plan. We know a world is an organism, not a machine. We also know that a genuinely created world must be independent of its creator; a planned world (a world that fully reveals its planning) is a dead world. It is only when our characters and events begin to disobey us that they begin to live.