Whatever The Heart Desires, It Purchases At

A City Becomes A World When One Loves One Of Its Inhabitants.

A Critic Is A Lug-worm In The Liver Of Literature.

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.

A Diary Is The Last Place To Go If You Wish To Seek The Truth About A Person. Nobody Dares To Make The Final Confession To Themselves On Paper: Or At Least, Not About Love.

After All The Work Of The Philosophers On His Soul And The Doctors On His Body, What Can We Really Say We Know About A Man? That He Is, When All Is Said And Done, Just A Passage For Liquids And Solids, A Pipe Of Flesh.