“To know who you are, you have to have a place to come from.”

Wherever you look there’s meanness and corruption. This room, this bottle of grape wine, these fruits in the basket, are all products of profit and loss.

For in a swift radiance of illumination he saw a glimpse of human struggle and valor. Of the endless fluid passage of the humanity through endless time. And of those who labor and of those who – one word- love. His soul expanded. But for a moment only. For in him, he felt a warning, a shaft of terror.

This was her, Mick Kelly, walking in the daytime and by herself at night. In the hot sun and in the dark with all the plans and feelings.

The beloved fears and hates the lover, and with the best of reasons. For the lover is forever trying to strip bare his beloved.

The writer is by nature a dreamer – a conscious dreamer.

I want – I want – I want – was all that she could think about – but just what this real want was she did not know.

But no value has been put on human life; it is given to us free and taken without being paid for. What is it worth?

All people belong to a We except me. Not to belong to a We makes you too lonesome.

Can you wonder it is so miserable? Do you know how men should love? A tree. A rock. A cloud.

I was like a cat always climbing the wrong tree.

The trouble with me is that for a long time I have just been an I person.

Jesus would be framed and in jail if he was living today.

The xenophobic individual can only reject and destroy, as the xenophobic nation inevitably makes war.

There is no stillness like the quiet of the first cold nights in the fall.

The closest thing to being cared for is to care for someone else.

The writer by nature of his profession is a dreamer and a conscious dreamer. He must imagine, and imagination takes humility, love and great courage. How can you create a character without live and the struggle that goes with love?