“I had become, with the approach of night, once more aware of loneliness and time…” — Lawrence Durrell

Guilt always hurries towards its complement, punishment; only there does its satisfaction lie.

It takes a lot of energy and a lot of neurosis to write a novel. If you were really sensible, you'd do something else.

I'm trying to die correctly, but it's very difficult, you know.

Our inventions mirror our secret wishes.