In a corner of the churchyard grew a plantation of white violets, enormously plump and prosperous-looking. ... I saw the dead stretched out under me in the earth, feeding these flowers with a thin milk drawn from their bones.

How long, I wonder, will ignorance spell purity and knowledge shame?

One can present people with opportunities. One cannot make them equal to them.

The novel will never die, but it will keep changing and evolving and taking different shapes.

anything that becomes a cult, or a mass movement, loses its moral and spiritual value. The crusade has to be personal, individual. As soon as it becomes collective it loses its purpose.

One should always act from one's inner sense of rhythm.

It's the thought that counts.