God, He Whom Everyone Knows, By Name.

It Astounds Us To Come Upon Other Egoists, As Though We Alone Had The Right To Be Selfish, And To Be Filled With Eagerness To Live.

The Story I Am Writing Exists, Written In Absolutely Perfect Fashion, Some Place, In The Air. All I Must Do Is Find It, And Copy It.

I Have No Religion,’ Says Borneau, ‘but I Respect The Religion Of Others. Religion Is Sacred.’ Why This Privilege, This Immunity?... A Believer Creates God In His Own Image; If He Is Ugly, His God Will Be Morally Ugly. Why Should Moral Ugliness Be Respectable?

There Is Nothing Like Literature: I Lose A Cow, I Write About Her Death, And My Writing Pays Me Enough To Buy Another Cow.

Somewhere In The Shadow Cast By Every Famous Man Is A Feminine Victim.