I Am The Worst Judge Of My

A Man Is Not Much If He Can't Depend On Himself, And Nothing If Others Can't Depend On Him.

I Have Never Really Got Used To Being On This Earth. Sometimes I Think Our Presence Here Is Due To A Cosmic Blunder, That We Were Meant For Another Planet Altogether, With Other Arrangements, And Other Laws, And Other, Grimmer Skies. I Try To Imagine It, Our True Place, Off On The Far Side Of The Galaxy, Whirling And Whirling. And The Ones Who Were Meant For Here, Are They Out There, Baffled And Homesick, Like Us? No, They Would Have Become Extinct Long Ago. How Could They Survive, These Gentle Earthlings, In A World That Was Made To Contain Us.

I Shall Strip Away Layer After Layer Of Grime -- The Toffee-colored Varnish And Caked Soot Left By A Lifetime Of Dissembling -- Until I Come To The Very Thing Itself And Know It For What It Is. My Soul. My Self.

Fictional Characters Are Made Of Words, Not Flesh; They Do Not Have Free Will, They Do Not Exercise Volition. They Are Easily Born, And As Easily Killed Off.

Dostoevsky Is Such A Bad Writer It Is Hard To Take Him Seriously As A Novelist, Though He Is A Wonderful Philosopher.