You people who have survived childhood don't remeber any longer what it was like. You think children are whole, uncomplicated creatures, and if you split them in two with a handy axe there would be all one substance inside, hard candy. But it isn't hard candy so much as a hopeless seething lava of all kinds of things, a turmoil, a mess. And once the child starts thinking about this mess he begins to disintegrate as a child and turns into something else--an adult, an animal.

A man will reveal his true self, or so it seems, on the tennis court.

It's impossible to read a distinctive stylist like Faulkner, Joyce, Kafka, Mann, Woolf, James - and many more - without wanting to write, however entirely different one's writing will be.

See, people come into your life for a reason. They might not know it themselves, why. You might not know it. But there's a reason. There has to be

Is there any mystery like who you finally turn out to be.

The mere passage of time makes us all exiles.

It's not hard to write poorly. But to write something good, it has to be revised.