The silence of the world could not rein back it's greed. Not any longer. Not when it had virtually won.

Sometimes one must try anything, it is no disgrace. On the contrary, it is a sign of wisdom.

Writing is a lonely way of life. You shut yourself up in your study and work and work.

Either I've invented a whole new logic or, ahem, I'm not playing with a full deck.

Death hides within every religion. And at any time it can flash forth-not with healing in its wings but with poison, with that which wounds.

In this dark world where he now dwelt, ugly things and surprising things and once in a long while a tiny wondrous thing spilled out at him constantly; he could count on nothing.

There is evil! It's actual, like cement. I can't believe it. I can't stand it. Evil is not a view ... it's an ingredient in us. In the world. Poured over us, filtering into our bodies, minds, hearts, into the pavement itself.