Detective stories have nothing to do with works of art.

What the mass media offers is not popular art, but entertainment which is intended to be consumed like food, forgotten, and replaced by a new dish.

Perhaps there is only one cardinal sin: impatience. Because of impatience we were driven out of Paradise, because of impatience we cannot return.

Behind the corpse in the reservoir, behind the ghost on the links, Behind the lady who dances and the man who madly drinks, Under the look of fatigue, the attack of migraine and the sigh There is always another story, there is more than meets the eye.

A god who is both self-sufficient and content to remain so could not interest us enough to raise the question of his existence.

As a rule, it was the pleasure-haters who became unjust.

What the poet says has never been said before, but, once he has said it, his readers recognize its validity for themselves.