What a heap of ash most political careers amount to, when one really stops to consider them!

People perish. Books are immortal.

To say she was my girlfriend was absurd: no one the wrong side of thirty has a girlfriend… I suppose I ought to have realize it’s ominous that forty thousand years of human language had failed to produce a word for our relationship.

It implies a slight failure as a writer that you are reduced to being a ghostwriter for the money.

You find out what you think by talking to yourself.

My literary career was a fluke. Utterly unexpected.

Politics? Boring? Politics is history on the wing! What other sphere of human activity calls forth all that is most noble in men's souls, and all that is most base? Or has such excitement? Or more vividly exposes our strengths and weaknesses? Boring? You might as well say that life itself is boring!