Mediocre writers borrow; great writers steal.

I am moved by fancies that are curled, around these images and cling, the notion of some infinitely gentle, infinitely suffering thing.

time past and time future what might have been and what has been point to one end, which is always present.

There will be time to murder and create.

Hell is oneself, hell is alone, the other figures in it merely projections. There is nothing to escape from and nothing to escape to. One is always alone.

We should not confuse information with knowledge.

A thousand policemen directing traffic cannot tell you why you come or where you go.