Lonely. I always thought loneliness meant alone, without people. It means something else.

It's a sad day when you find out that it's not accident or time or fortune, but just yourself that kept things from you.

We will not think noble because we are not noble. We will not live in beautiful harmony because there is no such thing in this world, nor should there be. We promise only to do our best and to live out our lives. Dear God, that's all we can promise in truth.

Writers are interesting people, but often mean and petty.

There are people who eat the earth and eat all the people on it like in the Bible with the locusts. And other people who stand around and watch them eat.

Like all former thinkers, I'm writing a book.

Unjust. How many times I've used that word, scolded myself with it. All I mean by it now is that I don't have the final courage to say that I refuse to preside over violations against myself, and to hell with justice.