It all comes down, as it must, to the desires of individual men. Oh, and women too of course, bless their empty little heads.

To have humanism we must first be convinced of our humanity. As we move further into decadence this becomes more difficult.

It takes, unhappily, no more than a desk and writing supplies to turn any room into a confessional.

Someday she might replace whatever of her had gone away by some prosthetic device, a dress of a certain color, a phrase in a letter, another lover.

If there is something comforting - religious, if you want - about paranoia, there is still also anti-paranoia, where nothing is connected to anything, a condition not many of us can bear for long.

Get too conceptual, too cute and remote, and your characters die on the page.

Liebig himself seems to have occupied the role of a gate, or sorting-demon, such as his younger contemporary Clerk Maxwell once proposed, helping to concentrate energy into one favored room of the Creation at the expense of everything else.