It was not apathy. It was an intelligent disinterest in those things that could have no bearing on one's existence.

Condemned and executioner with aren't coupled in a primitive rite.

I think of myself as a storyteller, and that is it.

Robespierre, crippled and blind, has yet to be healed to the knowledge that service - his desire - is a deed of savage-speaking gentleness, not soft-spoken savagery.

Writers tell stories better, because they've had more practice, but everyone has a book in them. Yes, that old cliche.

What is any of this to us? Time is endless and ours. Love and Death are only the games we play in it.

Are not all loves secretly the same? A hundred flowers sprung from a single root.