Slavery is so intolerable a condition that the slave can hardly escape deluding himself into thinking that he is choosing to obey his master's commands when, in fact, he is obliged to. Most slaves of habit suffer from this delusion and so do some writers, enslaved by an all too personal style.

One cannot walk through an assembly factory and not feel that one is in Hell.

Mad Ireland hurt you into poetry.

We are lived by powers we pretend to understand.

Love each other or perish.

Human beings are, necessarily, actors who...can be divided...into the sane who know they are acting and the mad who do not.

The words of a dead man are modified in the guts of the living.