I Say That Home Is Where There

Hope Was An Instinct Only The Reasoning Human Mind Could Kill. An Animal Never Knew Despair.

...every Monologue Sooner Or Later Becomes A Discussion.

I Envied Those Who Could Believe In A God And I Distrusted Them. I Felt They Were Keeping Their Courage Up With A Fable Of The Changeless And The Permanent. Death Was Far More Certain Than God, And With Death There Would Be No Longer The Possibility Of Love Dying.

Despair Is The Price One Pays For Setting Himself An Impossible Aim.

With A Novel, Which Takes Perhaps Years To Write, The Author Is Not The Same Man He Was At The End Of The Book As He Was At The Beginning. It Is Not Only That His Characters Have Developed-he Has Developed With Them, And This Nearly Always Gives A Sense Of Roughness To The Work: A Novel Can Seldom Have The Sense Of Perfection Which You Find In Chekhov's Story, The Lady With The Dog.