You can't breathe dead hippo waking, sleeping, and eating, and at the same time keep your precarious grip on existence.

And perhaps in this is the whole difference; perhaps all the wisdom, and all truth, and all sincerity, are just compressed into that inappreciable moment of time in which we step over the threshold of the invisible.

I remember my youth... the feeling that I could last forever, outlast the sea, the earth, and all men.

The earth for us is a place to live in, where we must put up with sights, with sounds, with smells, too, by Jove! - breathe dead hippo, so as to speak, and not be contaminated. And there, don't you see? your strength comes in, the faith in your ability for the digging of unostentatious holes to bury the stuff in - your power of devotion, not to yourself, but to an obscure, back-breaking business.

I am a great foe of favoritism in public life, in private life, and even in the delicate relationship of an author to his works.

Beyond the fence the forest stood up spectrally in the moonlight, and through the dim stir, through the faint sounds of that lamentable courtyard, the silence of the land went home to one's very heart - its mystery, its greatness, the amazing reality of its concealed life.

There is never enough time to say our last word-the last word of our love, of our desire, faith, remorse, submission, revolt.