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

If people did not want their stories told, it would be better for them to keep away from me.

It may be life is only worthwhile at moments. Perhaps that is all we ought to expect.

The thing of course, is to make yourself alive. Most people remain all of their lives in a stupor.

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

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.

There is this thing called life. We live it, not as we intend or wish, but as we are driven on by forces outside and inside ourselves.