A city becomes a world when one loves one of its inhabitants.

Life, the raw material, is only lived in potentia until the artist deploys it in his work.

Truth is what most contradicts itself.

Everyone loathes his own country and countrymen if he is any sort of artist.

No one can go on being a rebel too long without turning into an autocrat.

Somewhere in the heart of experience there is an order and a coherence which we might purprise if we were attentive enough, loving enough, or patient enough.

'We live' writes Pursewarden somewhere 'lives based upon selected fictions. Our view of reality is conditioned by our position in space and time — not by our personalities as we like to think. Thus every interpretation oа reality is based upon a unique position. Two paces east or west and the whole picture is changed.