To me, all human behavior is unpredictable and, considering man's frailty... and... the ramshackle universe he functions in, it's... all irrational.

And I will look down and see my murmuring bones and the deep water like wind, like a roof of wind, and after a long time they cannot distinguish even bones upon the lonely and inviolate sand.

People to whom sin is just a matter of words, to them salvation is just words too.

Love doesn't die; the men and women do.

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

Between grief and nothing, I will take grief.

What a writer's obituary should read - he wrote the books, then he died.