One can't measure how a mood of confidence comes about.

Humans, the only self-regarding animals, blessed or cursed with this torturing higher faculty, have always wanted to know why.

If you live in Europe . . . things change . . . but continuity never seems to break. You don't have to throw the past away.

Everyone ends up moving alone towards the self

Disaster is private, in its way, as love is.

The creative act is not pure. History evidences it. Sociology extracts it. The writer loses Eden, writes to be read and comes to realize that he is answerable.

Written words still have the amazing power to bring out the best and worst of human nature