Sadistic Literature Is Not Only Inhumane. It

The Only Way To Live Is To Accept Each Minute As An Unrepeatable Miracle, Which Is Exactly What It Is: A Miracle And Unrepeatable.

To Grow Old Is To Have Taken Away, One By One, All Gifts Of Life, The Food And Wine, The Music And The Company. ... The Gods Unloose, One By One, The Mortal Fingers That Cling To The Edge Of The Table.

Novelists Who Treat Violence And Cruelty As Something To Be Exploited For Their Effect, Or To Enjoy The Pleasure Of An Evacuation, Are Carriers Of A Singularly Unpleasant Disease.

As Often As Not Our Whole Self...engages Itself In The Most Trivial Of Things, The Shape Of A Particular Hill, A Road In The Town In Which We Lived As Children, The Movement Of Wind In Grass. The Things We Shall Take With Us When We Die Will Nearly All Be Small Things.

I Am Never Happier Than When I Am Alone In A Foreign City; It Is As If I Had Become Invisible.