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.

A man that is born falls into a dream like a man who falls into the sea. If he tries to climb out into the air as inexperienced people endeavor to do, he drowns.

Who knows what true loneliness is - not the conventional word but the naked terror? To the lonely themselves it wears a mask. The most miserable outcast hugs some memory or some illusion.

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

Give me the right word and the right accent and I will move the world.

One must explore deep and believe the incredible to find the new particles of truth floating in an ocean of insignificance.

One can't live with one's finger everlastingly on one's pulse.