I felt that I was not, never had been and never would be a living part of this overpoweringly solid and deeply meaningful world around me.

Looking back now across fifteen years I could see with great clarity the fear I had lived in, which must mean that in the interval I had succeeded in a very important undertaking: I must have made my escape from it.

But I was used to finding something deadly in things that attracted me; there was always something deadly lurking in anything I wanted, anything I loved.

What I mean is, I love winter, and when you really love something, then it loves you back, in whatever way it has to love.

It seemed clear that wars were not made by generations and their special stupidities, but that wars were made instead by something ignorant in the human heart

You have to do what you think is the right thing, but just make sure it’s the right thing in the long run, and not just for the moment.

There was no harm in taking aim, even if the target was a dream.