An Ink Bottle, Which Now Seems Impossibly

But She Was Seventeen Now And Not Actually Dumb. She Knew That You Could Love Somebody More Than Anything And Still Not Love The Person All That Much, If You Were Busy With Other Things.

Fiction, I Believed, Was The Transmutation Of Experiential Dross Into Linguistic Gold. Fiction Meant Taking Up Whatever The World Had Abandoned By The Road And Making Something Beautiful Out Of It.

Being Dead's Only A Problem If You Know You're Dead, Which You Never Do Because You're Dead!

It Offended His Sense Of Himself, Because He Was An Individual From An Age Of Individuals, And A String Of Lights Was, Like Him, An Individual Thing. No Matter How Little The Thing Had Cost, To Throw It Away Was To Deny Its Value.

The Most Purely Autobiographical ­fiction Requires Pure Invention. Nobody Ever Wrote A More Auto­biographical Story Than "the Meta­morphosis".