Memoirs: the backstairs of history.

The season of love is the carnival of egoism and it brings a touchstone to our natures.

Earth knows no desolation. She smells regeneration in the moist breath of decay.

A witty woman is a treasure; a witty beauty is a power.

There is nothing the body suffers which the soul may not profit by.

Who rises from prayer a better man, his prayer is answered.

Caricature is rough truth.

Lowly, with a broken neck, The crocus lays her cheek to mire.

Lovely are the curves of the white owl sweeping Wavy in the dusk lit by one large star. Lone on the fir-branch, his rattle-note unvaried, Brooding o'er the gloom, spins the brown eve-jar.

We are betrayed by what is false within

Perfect simplicity is unconsciously audacious.

Silence was not the absence of sound but was itself a sound that could be loud or soft, soothing or disturbing, complex or simple.

Though people are laughing at the dirt surrounding you, they are missing to see the seeds also planted, growing silently within.

There was a fine line between madness and intelligence.

MISS YOU WILL MISS ME IF YOU, MISS UNDERSTAND ME

To people who remember JFK's assassination, JFK Jr. will probably always be that boy saluting his father's coffin.

I also believe that member states of the United Nations should live up their obligations to pay their dues.

My writing is done in railroad yards while waiting for a freight, in the fields while waiting for a truck, and at noon after lunch. Towns are too distracting.

I was a pilot flying an airplane and it just so happened that, where I was flying, made what I was doing spying.

But even gold is not everything: and only a fanatic, and a rather foolish fanatic, would say that this style of fiction summed up and exhausted all the good that fiction could give and do.

It is all we have left to us. And while it is more than I ever dared dream, it is nowhere near enough.