“Death is the great gamer with a sleeve of tricks.”

I meditated on love and reasoned it out. I realized what is wrong with us. Men fall in love for the first time. And what do they fall in love with? …They fall in love with a woman. They start at the wrong end of love. They begin at the climax.

The people dreamed and fought and slept as much as ever. And by habit they shortened their thoughts so that they would not wander out into the darkness beyond tomorrow.

I live with the people I create and it has always made my essential loneliness less keen.

Imagination takes humility, love and great courage.

Next to music beer was best.

A seed grows in writing as in nature. The seed of the idea is developed by both labor and the unconscious, and the struggle that goes on between them.

As often as not, we are homesick most for the places we have never known.

To find some lasting comfort in the arms of anothers fire…driven by a desperate hunger to the arms of a neon light, the heart is a lonely hunter when there’s no sign of love in sight!

They are the we of me.

I am not meant to be alone and without you who understands.

Coming down was the hardest part of any climbing.

We are torn between nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange.

the way i need you is a loneliness i cannot bear.

Love is the main generator of all good writing… Love, passion, compassion, are all welded together.

The whole world was this symphony, and there was not enough of her to listen… Now that it was over there was only her heart beating like a rabbit and this terrible hurt.

The seed of the idea is developed by both labor and the unconscious, and the struggle that goes on between them.

Yes, I have tricks in my pocket, I have things up my sleeve. But I am the opposite of a stage magician.

I don’t wear my political feelings on my sleeve. However, if I’m asked, I will answer honestly.

No mention of God. They keep Him up their sleeves for as long as they can, vicars do. They know it puts people off.

Protein was the most valued ingredient 250 years ago: It was the rarest thing. Now the rarest thing we have is time: time to cook and time to eat.

Paris, on the other hand, looked exactly as it was supposed to look. It wore its heart on its sleeve, and the strange thing was that the heart it wore so openly was in other ways so closed-mysterious, uninviting.