The East Wind, an interloper in the dominions of Westerly Weather, is an impassive-faced tyrant with a sharp poniard held behind his back for a treacherous stab.

It is the mark of an inexperienced man not to believe in luck.

I was constantly watching myself, my secret self, as dependent on my actions as my own personality

The real significance of crime is in its being a breach of faith with the community of mankind.

But it is like a running blaze on a plain, like a flash of lightning in the clouds. We live in the flicker - may it last as long as the old earth keeps rolling!

I suppose everybody must be always just a little homesick.

Perhaps life is just that... a dream and a fear.