Doc still loved true things but he knew that it was not a general love and it could be a very dangerous mistress.

After the bare requisites to living and reproducing, man wants most to leave some record of himself, a proof, perhaps, that he has really existed. He leaves his proof on wood, on stone or on the lives of other people. This deep desire exists in everyone, from the boy who writes dirty words in a public toilet to the Buddha who etches his image in the race mind. Life is so unreal. I think that we seriously doubt that we exist and go about trying to prove that we do.

One can find so many pains when the rain is falling.

I think bullfights are for men who aren't very brave and wish they were.

A creative person has to be alive. He can't borrow from things he's done in the past. He can't let his method choose his subjects or his characters. They can't be warped to fit his style.

When two people meet, each one is changed by the other so you've got two new people.

Nobody changes. Nobody gets hurt.