The Lake And The Mountains Have Become

Writing Is Not A Profession But A Vocation Of Unhappiness. I Don't Think An Artist Can Ever Be Happy.

I Have Made Love To Ten Thousand Women.

I'm A Bit Like A Sponge. When I'm Not Writing I Absorb Life Like Water. When I Write I Squeeze The Sponge A Little - And Out Comes, Not Water But Ink.

And Boucard Desisted, Probably Because Like Everyone Else He Was Deeply Impressed By This Man Who Had Laid All Ghosts, Who Had Lost All Shadows, And Who Stared You In The Eyes With Cold Serenity.

It Just Happened. As Though A Moment Comes When It's Both Necessary And Natural To Make A Decision That Has Long Since Been Made.