A man needs a purpose for real health.

Realism, in so far as the word means reality to life, is always bad art.

There is within every human being a deep well of thinking over which a heavy iron lid is kept clamped.

It was a cold day but the sun was out and the trees were like great bonfires against gray distant fields and hills.

Only the few know the sweetness of the twisted apples.

I think the whole glory of writing lies in the fact that it forces us out of ourselves and into the lives of others.

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