The best way of keeping a secret is to pretend there isn't one.

Lose your temper and you lose the fight.

All stories are about wolves. All worth repeating, that is. Anything else is sentimental drivel.

There were a lot of gods. Gods always come in handy, they justify almost anything.

Better not to invent her in her absence. Better to wait until she's actually here. Then he can make her up as she goes along.

The young habitually mistake lust for love, they're infested with idealism of all kinds.

Time rises and rises, and when it reaches the level of your eyes you drown.

This is how the girl who couldn't speak and the man who couldn't see fell in love.

Those who live alone slide into the habit of vertical eating: why bother with the niceties when there's no one to share or censure? But laxity in one area may lead to derangement in all.

More and more I feel like a letter—deposited here, collected there. But a letter addressed to no one.

He was deciding whether to cut her throat or love her forever.

In order that all men may be taught to speak truth, it is necessary that all likewise should learn to hear it.

In that moment her heart fell out of her chest. Like the glass filled vase he had brought to her, it dropped. It was shattered into a million small pieces.

If architecture had nothing to do with art, it would be astonishingly easy to build houses, but the architect's task - his most difficult task - is always that of selecting.

If every year is a marble, how many marbles do you have left? How many sunrises, how many opportunities to rise to the full stature of your being?

I do the protest stuff. I do country and western. I play both acoustic and electric guitar in a lot of different styles, from loud, psychedelic stuff to quiet finger-picking.

Rewriting is a large part of the whole job. And get rid of stuff that's not working. Just pare it down until it's a beautiful thing you can hand in.

I think that sexuality is only attractive when it's natural and spontaneous.

You cannot separate the old furniture from the memories and the memories from the old furniture!

Art is not emotion. Art is the medium in which emotion is expressed.

Is nature a giant cat? If so, who strokes its back?