Alternatives, and particularly desirable alternatives, grow only on imaginary trees.

One way or another the no doubt mad idea entered my mind that my own actions had historic importance and this fantasy (?) made it appear that people who harmed me were interfering with an important experiment.

A man may say, "From now on I'm going to speak the truth." But the truth hears him and runs away and hides before he's even done speaking.

Language is a spiritual mansion in which you live and nobody has the right to evict you.

Because I have become such a solitary, and not in the Aristotelian sense: not a beast, not a god. Rather, a loner troubled by longings, incapable of finding a suitable language and despairing at the impossibility of composing messages in a playable key--as if I no longer understood the codes used by the estimable people who wanted to hear from me and would have so much to reply if only the impediments were taken away.

To tell the truth I never had it so good. But I lacked the strength of character to bear such joy.

The writer cannot make the seas of distraction stand still, but he [or she] can at times come between the madly distracted and the distractions.