Books are where things are explained to you; life is where things aren't.

I thought of the things that had happened to me over the years, and of how little I had made happen.

You lose the world for a glance? Of course you do. That is what the world is for: to lose under the right circunstances.

The best life for a writer is the life which helps him write the best books he can.

But I’ve been turning over in my mind the question of nostalgia, and whether I suffer from it. I certainly don’t get soggy at the memory of some childhood knickknack; nor do I want to deceive myself sentimentally about something that wasn’t even true at the time—love of the old school, and so on. But if nostalgia means the powerful recollection of strong emotions—and a regret that such feelings are no longer present in our lives—then I plead guilty.

Was it the case that colours dimmed as the eye grew elderly? Or was it rather that in youth your excitement about the world transferred itself onto everything you saw and made it brighter?

The companionship of dead writers is a wonderful form of live friendship.