Riches is nothing in the face of the Lord, for He can see into the heart.

The reason you will not say it is, when you say it, even to yourself, you will know it is true.

The scattered tea goes with the leaves and every day a sunset dies.

And when I think about that, I think that if nothing but being married will help a man, he's durn nigh hopeless.

It is as though the space between us were time: an irrevocable quality. It is as though time, no longer running straight before us in a diminishing line, now runs parallel between us like a looping string, the distance being the doubling accretion of the thread an not the interval between.

If I had not existed, someone else would have written me, Hemingway, Dostoyevsky, all of us.

Surely there is something in madness, even the demoniac, which Satan flees, aghast at his own handiwork, and which God looks on in pity.