“The bourgeois are other people.” — Jules Renard

Words are the small change of thought.

Words are the coins making up the currency of sentences, and there are always too many small coins.

The reward of great men is that, long after they have died, one is not quite sure that they are dead.

The story I am writing exists, written in absolutely perfect fashion, some place, in the air. All I must do is find it, and copy it.