Hurry Up, Please, Its Time.

What We Know Of Other People's Only Our Memory Of The Moments During Which We Knew Them.

Survival Is Your Strength Not Your Shame.

Most Contemporary Novels Are Not Really "written." They Obtain What Reality They Have Largely From An Accurate Rendering Of The Noises That Human Beings Currently Make In Their Daily Simple Needs Of Communication; And What Part Of A Novel Is Not Composed Of These Noises Consists Of A Prose Which Is No More Alive Than That Of A Competent Newspaper Writer Or Government Official. A Prose That Is Altogether Alive Demands Something Of The Reader That The Ordinary Novel-reader Is Not Prepared To Give.

These Are Only Hints And Guesses, Hints Followed By Guesses; And The Rest Is Prayer, Observance, Discipline, Thought And Action.

Desire Itself Is Movement Not In Itself Desirable; Love Is Itself Unmoving, Only The Cause And End Of Movement, Timeless, And Undesiring Except In The Aspect Of Time Caught In The Form Of Limitation Between Un-being And Being.