What’s any artist, but the dregs of his work?

There is nothing more distressing or tiresome than a writer standing in front of an audience and reading his work.

He walked out into the cold morning asking himself this heretical question: Can you start measuring a minute at any instant you wish?

Justice? You get justice in the next world, in this world you have the law.

Stupidity is the deliberate cultivation of ignorance.

It is the bliss of childhood that we are being warped most when we know it the least.

How real is any of the past, being every moment revalued to make the present possible.