This does not matter. This is not anything yet. It all depends on what you do with it, afterward.

And we'd sit in the dry leaves that whispered a little with the slow respiration of our waiting and with the slow breathing of the earth and the windless october, the rank smell of the lantern fouling the brittle air, listening to the dog and the echo of louis' voice dying away

A bus station is where a bus stops. A train station is where a train stops. On my desk, I have a work station….

The past is never dead. It's not even past.

Whatever its symbol - cross or crescent or whatever - that symbol is man's reminder of his duty inside the human race.

In every writer there is a certain amount of the scavenger.

In the South you are ashamed of being a virgin. Boys. Men. They lie about it. Because it means less to women, Father said. He said it was men invented virginity not women. Father said it's like death: only a state in which the others are left and I said, But to believe it doesn't matter and he said, That's what's so sad about anything: not only virginity and I said, Why couldn't it have been me and not her who is unvirgin and he said, That's why that's sad too; nothing is even worth the changing of it.