I do not plan my fiction any more than I normally plan woodland walks; I follow the path that seems most promising at any given point, not some itinerary decided before entry.

The most important questions in life can never be answered by anyone except oneself.

The profoundest distances are never geographical.

There are only two races on this planet - the intelligent and the stupid.

There comes a time in each life like a point of fulcrum. At that time you must accept yourself. It is not any more what you will become. It is what you are and always will be.

Time is not a road - it is a room.

The pronoun is one of the most terrifying masks man has invented.

There are many reasons why novelists write, but they all have one thing in common - a need to create an alternative world.

In some mysterious way woods have never seemed to me to be static things. In physical terms, I move through them; yet in metaphysical ones, they seem to move through me.

Alive. Alive in the way that death is alive.

An answer is always a form of death.

Sometimes I work so long and so hard that I have no idea what day or time it is. I forget to eat. I don't get ready for the day. I fall asleep on the couch and wake up and get back to work.

Time is of your own making; Its clock ticks in your head. The moment you stop thought Time too stops dead.

Everyone has the right to work, to free choice of employment, to just and favorable conditions of work and to protection against unemployment.

The beauty of the written word is that it can be held close to the heart and read over and over again.

The eye and Religion can beare no jesting.

Journalists are accused of being lapdogs when they don't ask the hard questions, but then accused of being rude when they do. Good thing we have tough hides.

Alas! the culture of an Irishman is an enterprise to be undertaken with a sort of moral bog hoe.

For most people who have or who do identify as or with [song] Straight Edge, I feel like for most people, they're just trying to do the right thing.

The information I have about Iran is second hand.

The problem of Eternity, of which the face of the Sphinx speaks, takes us into the realm of the impossible. Even the problem of Time is simple in comparison with the problem of Eternity.