He had never before felt so self-consciously young, nor experienced such appetite, such impatience for the story to begin.

The cost of oblivious daydreaming was always this moment of return, the realignment with what had been before and now seemed a little worse.

Wasn't writing a kind of soaring, an achievable form of flight, of fancy, of the imagination?

And though you think the world is at your feet, it can rise up and tread on you.

He knew these last lines by heart and mouthed them now in the darkness. My reason for life. Not living, but life. That was the touch. And she was his reason for life, and why he must survive.

At that moment, the urge to be writing was stronger than any notion she had of what she might write.

We go on our hands and knees and crawl our way towards the truth

Above all, she wanted to look as though she had not given the matter a moment's thought, and that would take time.

In that shrinking moment he discovered that he had never hated anyone until now. It was a feeling as pure as love, but dispassionate and icily rational.

It wasn't torpor that kept her - she was often restless to the point of irritability. She simply liked to feel that she was prevented from leaving, that she was needed.

Waiting. Simply one person doing nothing, over time, while another approached.

Republicans are for both the man and the dollar, but in case of conflict the man before the dollar.

There's no such thing as perfect writing, just like there's no such thing as perfect despair.

We find and understand the beauty of life through education.

And one more thing: you still believe that man can be good. If that weren't the case, you wouldn't have invented all this nonsense to convince yourself otherwise.

wealth is one of the keys to open paradise

Just because you're alive doesn't mean you're living.

Never had it occurred to me that the things that had happened to me...might be a kind of trauma.

Dictatorships start wars because they need external enemies to exert internal control over their own people.

Christ: I dislike him very much. Still, I can stand him. What I cannot stand is the wretched band of people whose profession is to hoodwink us about him.

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.