If I Was Asked To Say What

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.

If They Give Me The Bloody Prize, Why Can't They Say Nice Things About Me?

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

I Am The Worst Judge Of My Books.

I Dont Know If There Is A Personal Identity. We All Imagine That We Are Absolute Individuals. But When We Begin To Look For Where This Individuality Resides, Its Very Difficult To Find.