I prefer lies to truth, especially when the lies are about me.

Misery, anger, indignation, discomfort-those conditions produce literature. Contentment-never. So there you are.

Immorality, I know. Immortality, I cannot judge.

They taught me that no man could be their leader except he ate the ranks' food, wore their clothes, lived level with them, and yet appeared better in himself.

It seems to me that the conquest of the air is the only major task for our generation.

Some of the evil of my tale may have been inherent in our circumstances. For years we lived anyhow with one another in the naked desert, under the indifferent heaven.

He was old and wise, which meant tired and disappointed.