...All my best words are deserters and do not answer the trumpet call, and the remainder are cripples.

I have no desires, save the desire to express myself in defiance of all the world’s muteness.

Solitude is the playfield of Satan.

I don't read reviews about myself with any special eagerness or attention unless they are masterpieces of wit and acumen, and I never reread them.

There was no Lo to behold.

A wise reader reads the book of genius not with his heart, not so much with his brain, but with his spine. It is there that occurs the telltale tingle.

Literature was not born the day when a boy crying "wolf, wolf" came running out of the Neanderthal valley with a big gray wolf at his heels; literature was born on the day when a boy came crying "wolf, wolf" and there was no wolf behind him.