Somewhere out there the world must have an end.

Four billion people on this earth, but my imagination is still the same. It's bad with large numbers. It's still taken by particularity. It flits in the dark like a flashlight, illuminating only random faces while all the rest go blindly by, never coming to mind and never really missed. . . . I can't tell you how much I pass over in silence.

All the best have something in common, a regard for reality, an agreement to its primacy over the imagination.

I cannot imagine any writer who would not fight for his peace and quiet.

I'm drowning in papers.

Even the worst book can give us something to think about.

In every tragedy, an element of comedy is preserved. Comedy is just tragedy reversed.