Every Heart Has Its Graveyard.

Magic Is Older Than Writing. So Nobody Knows How It Started.

I Regret All Of My Books.

I Been Through Living For Years. I Just Ain't Dead Yet.

I Do Not Pray. . . . I Do Not Expect God To Single Me Out And Grant Me Advantages Over My Fellow Men. . . . Prayer Seems To Me A Cry Of Weakness, And An Attempt To Avoid, By Trickery, The Rules Of The Game As Laid Down. I Do Not Choose To Admit Weakness. I Accept The Challenge Of Responsibility.

Grab The Broom Of Anger And Drive Off The Beast Of Fear.