Work accomplished means little. It is in the past. What we all want is the glorious and living present.

Wait and wait. Most people's lives are spent waiting.

When a man publishes a book, there are so many stupid things said that he declares he'll never do it again. The praise is almost always worse than the criticism.

In that high place in the darkness the two oddly sensitive human atoms held each other tightly and waited. In the mind of each was the same thought. "I have come to this lonely place and here is this other," was the substance of the thing felt.

The machines men are so intent on making have carried them very far from the old sweet things.

In youth there are always two forces fighting in people. The warm unthinking little animal struggles against the thing that reflects and remembers

I am a lover and have not found my thing to love. That is a big point if you know enough to realize what I mean. It makes my destruction inevitable, you see. There are few who understand that.