This tower, patched unevenly with black ivy, arose like a mutilated finger from among the fists of knuckled masonry and pointed blasphemously at heaven. At night the owls made of it an echoing throat; by day it stood voiceless and cast its long shadow.

I want a lot to eat, I'm going to think today.

For death is life. It is only living that is lifeless.

In the presence of real tragedy you feel neither pain nor joy nor hatred, only a sense of enormous space and time suspended, the great doors open to black eternity, the rising across the terrible field of that last enormous, unanswerable question.

He saw in happiness the seeds of independence, and in independence the seeds of revolt.

I am the wilderness lost in man.

I am clever enough to know that I am clever.