Chang Tzu tells us of a persevering man who after three laborious years mastered the art of dragon-slaying. For the rest of his days, he had not a single opportunity to test his skills.

I am not sure of anything, I know nothing . . . can you imagine that I don't even know the date of my own death?

Many of the characters are fools and they're always playing tricks on me and treating me badly.

Reality is not always probable, or likely.

Whoever would undertake some atrocious enterprise should act as if it were already accomplished should impose upon himself a future as irrevocable as the past.

Every writer creates his own precursors. His work modifies our conception of the past, as it will modify the future.

At the beginning of their careers many writers have a need to overwrite. They choose carefully turned-out phrases; they want to impress their readers with their large vocabularies. By the excesses of their language, these young men and women try to hide their sense of inexperience. With maturity the writer becomes more secure in his ideas. He finds his real tone and develops a simple and effective style.