It's very important to be just to other people. It takes years and years of living to learn that injustice against oneself is always unimportant.

people in general are totally unable to detach the personality of a writer from the products of his thinking.

Lives are only one with living. How dare we, in our egos, claim catastrophe in the rise and fall of the individual entity? There is only Life, and we are beads strung on its strong and endless thread.

They were all too tightly bound together, men and women, creatures wild and tame, flowers, fruits and leaves, to ask that any one be spared. As long as the whole continued, the earth could go about its business.

I have found that each of my books has developed out of something I have written in a previous book. Some thought evidently unfinished.

Madness is only a variety of mental nonconformity and we are all individualists here.

Now he understood. This was death. Death was a silence that gave back no answer.