I'm my own writer. My material means I'm entirely separate.

That element of surprise is what I look for when I am writing. It is my way of judging what I am doing - which is never an easy thing to do.

The world is what it is; men who are nothing, who allow themselves to become nothing, have no place in it.

One isn’t born one’s self. One is born with a mass of expectations, a mass of other people’s ideas – and you have to work through it all.

Most people are not really free. They are confined by the niche in the world that they carve out for themselves. They limit themselves to fewer possibilities by the narrowness of their vision.

It is wrong to have an ideal view of the world. That's where the mischief starts. That's where everything starts unravelling.

The only lies for which we are truly punished are those we tell ourselves.

Home is, I suppose just a child's idea. A house at night, and a lamp in the house. A place to feel safe.

One always writes comedy at the moment of deepest hysteria.

The world is always in movement.

All the details of the life and the quirks and the friendships can be laid out for us, but the mystery of the writing will remain. No amount of documentation, however fascinating, can take us there.

A wedding is and event, but marriage is a life.

The child's naive dream of life is the only one worth having.

When you love, the whole universe loves you back.

The car bomb was fertilizer, gasoline, fireworks and propane tanks...still safer than a Toyota.

How many whales do we really need? I figure five. One for each ocean.

I applied to Uncyclopedia Bassists, and was accepted!!

There is only one thing better than tradition and that is the original and eternal life out of which all tradition takes its rise.

The more we pray, the more we sense our need to pray. And the more we sense a need to pray, the more we want to pray.

I was a peaceful sedentary man, a lover of a quiet life, with no appetite for perils and commotions. But I was beginning to realise that I was very obstinate.

Parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till-'t is gone, and all is gray.