It Is Always More Valuable To Report

I Found The Human Heart Empty And Insipid Everywhere Except In Books.

One Cannot Become A Saint When One Works Sixteen Hours A Day.

Man Is Nothing Else But What He Makes Of Himself.

Perhaps Its Inevitable, Perhaps One Has To Choose Between Being Nothing At All And Impersonating What One Is.

You See, The Contemporary Writer Must Write Through His Intimations Of Unease, While Trying To Elucidate Them.