Death Is The Mother Of Beauty.

You're Under Pressure When You Produce Facts. You're Working With Facts In Journalism, But You're Under All Kinds Of Formal Constraints; There Are Expectations.

This Life Is But The Childhood Of Our Immortality.

All These Weirdos, And Me Getting A Little Better Every Day Right In The Midst Of Them. I Had Never Known, Never Even Imagined For A Heartbeat, That There Might Be A Place For People Like Us.

I Didnt Finish The Stories Until We Went To The Philippines And I Got Malaria. I Couldnt Work And I Didnt Have Any Money, But I Had Seven Stories. So I Wrote Three Or Four More.

Memories Assailed Him Of How Gently She Had Spoken, Touched, And Moved; Of How She'd Loved Him Fiercely Despite His Mistakes And Obsessions And Weaknesses. And The Conviction Descended On Him That Love Like Theirs Couldn't Possibly Suffer Any Change.