It is when we try to grapple with another man's intimate need that we perceive how incomprehensible, wavering, and misty are the beings that share with us the sight of the stars and the warmth of the sun.

It seems to me I am trying to tell you a dream - making a vain attempt, because no relation of a dream can convey the dream-sensation, that commingling of absurdity, surprise, and bewilderment in a tremor of struggling revolt, that notion of being captured by the incredible which is of the very essence of dreams.

Fiction is history, human history, or it is nothing.

It is my belief no man ever understands quite his own artful dodges to escape from the grim shadow of self knowledge.

He struggled with himself, too. I saw it -- I heard it. I saw the inconceivable mystery of a soul that knew no restraint, no faith, and no fear, yet struggling blindly with itself.

The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.

Sleep after toyle, port after stormie seas, Ease after warre, death after life, does greatly please.