Murder is a plant of slow growth.

murder is not polite.

The complexity of human relationships is never simple to follow; it is like intricate lacework, but lacework made of steel.

there is no gateway to maturity; there is no line that is crossed. Maturity is like a maze, one path leading to another; it is like a great building full of corridors, one turning into another. Did anybody ever reach the end, so there was a clear way ahead, so he could say, now I am rich with knowledge, now I know all the answers?

A request not to worry is perhaps the least soothing message capable of human utterance.

contemplating the misfortunes of others does not lighten one's own trouble but instead adds to it.

I seat myself at the typewriter and hope, and lurk.