It Is In This Unearthly First Hour

One Can Suffer A Convulsion Of One's Entire Nature, And, Unless It Makes Some Noise, No One Notices. It's Not Just That We Are Incurious; We Completely Lack Any Sense Of Each Other's Existences.

But To Be Quite Oneself One Must First Waste A Little Time.

Experience Isn't Interesting Until It Begins To Repeat Itself. In Fact, Till It Does That, It Hardly Is Experience.

Revenge Was A Very Wild Kind Of Justice.

... A Novel Survives Because Of Its Basic Truthfulness, Its Having Within It Something General And Universal, And A Quality Of Imaginative Perception Which Applies Just As Much Now As It Did In The Fifty Or Hundred Or Two Hundred Years Since The Novel Came To Life.