It is not that which is beautiful that pleases us, but that which pleases is is called beautiful.

There was no answer, no solution, no sop, no deliverance. What, then, did I do? I read faster.

Words sing. They hurt. They teach. They sanctify. They were man's first, immeasurable feat of magic. They liberated us from ignorance and our barbarous past.

It is not that which is beautiful that pleases us, but that which pleases is is called beautiful.

Every writer is a narcissist. This does not mean that he is vain; it only means that he is hopelessly self-absorbed.

Thinking is harder work than hard work.

I cannot believe that the purpose of life is to be happy. I think the purpose of life is to be useful, to be responsible, to be compassionate. It is, above all to matter, to count, to stand for something, to have made some difference that you lived at all.