I try to sit down at the typewriter four times a day, even if it's only five minutes, and write three sentences.

Good-bye and hello, as always.

Tonight I will suck the marrow from your bones!” it said. “I will dry them and work them most cunningly into instruments of music! Whenever I play upon them, your spirit will writhe in bodiless agony!” “You burn prettily,” I said.

Time passed slowly, like and old man climbing a hill.

There's no such thing as civilization. The word just means the art of living in cities.

The most difficult thing about Time, I have learned, is doing it.

Of all the things a man may do, sleep probably contributes most to keeping him sane. It puts brackets about each day. If you do something foolish or painful today, you get irritated if somebody mentions it, today. If it happened yesterday, though, you can nod or chuckle, as the case may be. You've crossed through nothingness or dream to another island in Time.