Justice Itself Is A Chimera, A Delusion.

All We Can Do Is Go Around Telling The Truth.

Doctors, By God; Washing Their Hands, Looking Out Windows, Fiddling With Dreadful Things While You Are Stretched Out On A Table Or Half Undressed On A Chair.

You Don't Know What It Is To Store Up A Lot Of Details And Then Come Upon Something Real.

A Writer Soon Discovers He Has No Single Identity But Lives The Lives Of All The People He Creates And His Weathers Are Independent Of The Actual Day Around Him. I Live With The People I Create And It Has Always Made My Essential Loneliness Less Keen.

A Most Mediocre Person Can Be The Object Of A Love Which Is Wild, Extravagant, And Beautiful As The Poison Lillies Of The Swamp.