A novelist is an elephant, but an elephant who must pretend to forget.

The things of this world reveal their essential absurdity when they are put in the Venetian context. In the unreal realm of the canals, as in a Swiftian Lilliput, the real world, with its contrivances, appears as a vast folly.

It really takes a hero to live any kind of spiritual life without religious belief.

Venice, as a city, was a foundling, floating upon the waters like Moses in his basket among the bulrushes.

From what I have seen, I am driven to the conclusion that religion is only good for good people.

Every word she writes is a lie, including "and" and "the."

Once the state is looked upon as the source of rights, rather than their bound protector, freedom becomes conditional on the pleasure of the state.