God Is Only A Word Dreamed Up

The More You Approach Infinity, The Deeper You Penetrate Terror

As You Get Older, The Heart Shed Its Leaves Like A Tree. You Cannot Hold Out Against Certain Winds. Each Day Tears Away A Few More Leaves; And Then There Are The Storms That Break Off Several Branches At One Go. And While Nature’s Greenery Grows Back Again In The Spring, That Of The Heart Never Grows Back.

You Must Write For Yourself, Above All. That Is Your Only Hope Of Creating Something Beautiful.

What Is Glory? It Is To Have A Lot Of Nonsense Talked About You.

Writing History Is Like Drinking An Ocean And Pissing A Cupful.