The aim of every artist is to arrest motion, which is life, by artificial means.

Hemingway shot himself. I don't like a man that takes the short way home.

Now she hates me. I have taught her that, at least.

How often have I lain beneath rain on a strange roof, thinking of home.

Memory believes before knowing remembers. Believes longer than recollects, longer than knowing even wonders.

Life was created in the valleys. It blew up onto the hills on the old terrors, the old lusts, the old despairs. That's why you must walk up the hills so you can ride down.

It is easy enough to say that man is immortal simply because he will endure: that when the last ding-dong of doom has clanged and faded from the last worthless rock hanging tideless in the last red and dying evening, that even then there will still be one more sound: that of his puny inexhaustible voice, still talking.