Perhaps everyone loved someone; I didn't now, I couldn't give much thought to love; in order to travel far you had to be detached, and I had the long road back to the campus before me.

Every serious novel is, beyond its immediate thematic preoccupations, a discussion of the craft, a conquest of the form, a conflict with its difficulties and a pursuit of its felicities and beauty.

It is sometimes advantageous to be unseen, although it is most often rather wearing on the nerves.

Man's hope can paint a purple picture, can transform a soaring vulture into a noble eagle or moaning dove.

Please, a definition: A hibernation is a covert preparation for a more overt action.

The blues is an art of ambiguity, an assertion of the irrepressibly human over all circumstance whether created by others or by one's own human failings. They are the only consistent art in the United States which constantly remind us of our limitations while encouraging us to see how far we can actually go. When understood in their more profound implication, they are a corrective, an attempt to draw a line upon man's own limitless assertion.

I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me.