Truth is neither ojectivity nor the balanced view; truth is a selfless subjectivity.

But things worked out. Everything works out. Though sometimes they work out sideways.

The writer must be able to revel and roll in the abundance of words; he must know not only the direct but also the secret power of a word. There are overtones and undertones to a word, and lateral echoes, too.

And the great spirit of darkness spread a shroud over me...everything was silent-everything. But upon the heights soughed the everlasting song, the voice of the air, the distant, toneless humming which is never silent.

Do not forget, some give little, and it is much for them, others give all, and it costs them no effort; who then has given most?

The intelligent poor individual was a much finer observer than the intelligent rich one. The poor individual looks around him at every step, listens suspiciously to every word he hears from the people he meets; thus, every step he takes presents a problem, a task, for his thoughts and feelings. He is alert and sensitive, he is experienced, his soul has been burned.

Small jerks began to appear in my legs, my walk became unsteady precisely because I wanted it to be smooth.