Few men realize that their life, the very essence of their character, their capabilities and their audacities, are only the expression of their belief in the safety of their surroundings.

All creative art is magic, is evocation of the unseen in forms persuasive, enlightening, familiar and surprising.

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

The interior deprives men of their senses. Here, the eerie stillness of the wilderness and the darkness of night render the men both deaf and blind. Without eyes or ears, they have no frame of reference-and without a frame of reference, they have no clear identities.

The sky over Patusan was blood-red, immense, streaming like an open vein. An enormous sun nestled crimson amongst the treetops, and the forest below had a black and forbidding face.

You can't, in sound morals, condemn a man for taking care of his own integrity. It is his clear duty.

I can't imagine a human being so hard up for something to do as to quarrel with me.