There was a definite process by which one made people into friends, and it involved talking to them and listening to them for hours at a time.

The mind is its own enemy, that fights itself with the innumerable pliant and ineluctable arms of the octopus.

Birds sat on the telegraph wires that spanned the river as the black notes sit on a staff of music.

A strong hatred is the best lamp to bear in our hands as we go over the dark places of life, cutting away the dead things men tell us to revere.

Literature must be an analysis of experience and a synthesis of the findings into a unity.

Why must you always try to be omnipotent, and shove things about? Tragic things happen sometimes that we just have to submit to.

My memory is certainly in my hands. I can remember things only if I have a pencil and I can write with it and I can play with it. ... I think your hand concentrates for you. I don't know why it should be so.