Literature In Its Most Comprehensive Sense Is

A Complete Life May Be One Ending In So Full An Identification With The Oneself That There Is No Self Left To Die.

Miracles Happen To Those Who Believe In Them.

Who Will Free Me From Hurry, Flurry, The Feeling Of A Crowd Pushing Behind Me, Of Being Hustled And Crushed? How Can I Regain Even For A Minute The Feeling Of Ample Leisure I Had During My Early, My Creative Years? Then I Seldom Felt Fussed, Or Hurried. There Was Time For Work, For Play, For Love, The Confidence That If A Task Was Not Done At The Appointed Time, I Easily Could Fit It Into Another Hour. I Used To Take Leisure For Granted, As I Did Time Itself.

Enemies Could Become The Best Companions. Companionship Is Based On A Common Interest, And The Greater The Interest The Closer The Companionship. What Makes Enemies Of People, If Not The Eagerness, The Passion For The Same Thing?

[describing His House:] It Is A Library With Living Rooms Attached.