In solitude we give passionate attention to our lives, to our memories, to the details around us.

We are cut, we are fallen. We are become part of that unfeeling universe that sleeps when we are at our quickest and burns red when we lie asleep.

Mental fight means thinking against the current, not with it. It is our business to puncture gas bags and discover seeds of truth.

There is no room for the impurities of literature in an essay.

One likes people much better when they're battered down by a prodigious siege of misfortune than when they triumph.

How can I express the darkness?

Conversation, fastidious goddess, loves blood better than brick, and feasts most subtly on the human will.