In Violence, We Forget Who We Are

I Once Started A Detective Story To Make Money—but I Couldn't Get The Murder To Take Place! At The End Of Three Chapters I Was Still Describing The Characters And The Milieu, So I Thought, This Is Not Going To Work. No Corpse!

I Suppose Everyone Continues To Be Interested In The Quest For The Self, But What You Feel When You're Older, I Think, Is That ... You Really Must Make The Self. It Is Absolutely Useless To Look For It, You Won't Find It, But It's Possible In Some Sense To Make It. I Don't Mean In The Sense Of Making A Mask, A Yeatsian Mask. But You Finally Begin In Some Sense To Make And Choose The Self You Want.

The Return To A Favorite Novel Is Generally Tied Up With Changes In Oneself That Must Be Counted As Improvements, But Have The Feel Of Losses. It Is Like Going Back To A Favorite House, Country, Person; Nothing Is Where It Belongs, Including One's Heart.

In Morals As In Politics Anarchy Is Not For The Weak.

Life For The European Is A Career; For The American It Is A Hazard.