Is it really beyond our wits to devise some form of censorship which would trap only the crudely sadistic?

each time that I have run away - and from a habit it quickly became an illness - I have betrayed someone. Myself, but not always only myself.

There is a stage in any misery when the victim begins to find a deep satisfaction in it.

Any marriage worth the name is no better than a series of beginnings - many of them abortive.

Critics have been amusing themselves for a long time by auscultating fiction for signs of heart failure.

jealousy, the most hideous emotion any human being ever suffers, has nothing to do with the mind. Or not at first.

Sadistic literature is not only inhumane. It is anti-human.