You become writer by writing. It is a yoga.

Death and its associates, after the initial shock, produce callousness.

The difference between a simpleton and an intelligent man, according to the man who is convinced that he is of the latter category, is that the former wholeheartedly accepts all things that he sees and hears while the latter never admits anything except after a most searching scrutiny. He imagines his intelligence to be a sieve of closely woven mesh through which nothing but the finest can pass.

A profound unmitigated loneliness is the only truth of life.

Life is about making right things and going on.

We always question the bonafides of the man who tells us unpleasant facts.

This is my child. I planted it. I saw it grow. I loved it. Don't cut it down.