The Impulse To Ask Questions Is Among

Life Is One Long Struggle To Disinter Oneself, To Keep One's Head Above The Accumulations, The Ever Deepening Layers Of Objects ... Which Attempt To Cover One Over, Steadily, Almost Irresistibly, Like Falling Snow.

Nearly All Novels Are Too Long.

Nothing, Perhaps, Is Strange, Once You Have Accepted Life Itself, The Great Strange Business Which Includes All Lesser Strangeness.

To Be Prejudiced Is The Privilege Of The Thinking Human Being. ... The Open Mind Is The Empty Mind.

Age Has Extremely Little To Do With Anything That Matters. The Difference Between One Age And Another Is, As A Rule, Enormously Exaggerated.