If one's fated to be born in Caesar's Empire, let him live aloof, provincial, by the seashore.

The fact that we are living does not mean we are not sick.

There are worse crimes than burning books. One of them is not reading them.

I grew up in the sort of cultural milieu that always regarded conversations about the political discourse as tremendously low-brow.

...in the business of writing what one accumulates is not expertise but uncertainties. Which is but another name for craft.

The delirium and horror of the East. The dusty catastrophe of Asia. Green only on the banner of the Prophet. Nothing grows here except mustaches.

As failures go, attempting to recall the past is like trying to grasp the meaning of existence. Both make one feel like a baby clutching at a basketball: one's palms keep sliding off.