This monster of a land, this mightiest of nations, this spawn of the future, turns out to be the macrocosm of microcosm me.

Never correct or rewrite until the whole thing is down.

The words are meaningless except in terms of feeling. Does anyone act as the result of thought or does feeling stimulate action and sometimes thought implement it.

To a monster the norm must seem monstrous, since everyone is normal to himself.

A writer lives in awe of words, for they can be cruel or kind, and they can change their meanings right in front of you. They pick up flavors and odors like butter in a refrigerator.

But 'Thou mayest!'! Why, that makes a man great, that gives him stature with the gods, for in his weakness and his filth and his murder of his brother he has still the great choice. He can choose his course and fight it through and win

Power does not corrupt. Fear corrupts... perhaps the fear of a loss of power.