We all have appointments with the past.

Like our bodies and like our desires, the machines we have devised are possessed of a heart which is slowly reduced to embers.

There is something peculiarly dispriting about the emptiness that wells up when, in a strange city, one dials the same telephone numbers in vain.

I wonder now whether inner coldness and desolation may not be the pre-condition for making the world believe, by a kind of fraudulent showmanship, that one's own wretched heart is still aglow.

At the time I could no more believe my eyes than now I can trust my memory.

Men and animals regard each other across a gulf of mutual incomprehension.

By all means be experimental, but let the reader be part of the experiment