Silence Too Can Be Indiscreet.

Eternity: What A Waste Of Time.

Novels Are Longer Than Life.

To Think About And Prepare For War Is Boring, Boring For Everyone. It's Being Locked In Barracks.

We Know All Their Gods; They Ignore Ours. What They Call Our Sins Are Our Gods, And What They Call Their Gods, We Name Otherwise.

At First, When An Idea, A Poem, Or The Desire To Write Takes Hold Of You, Work Is A Pleasure, A Delight, And Your Enthusiasm Knows No Bounds. But Later On You Work With Difficulty, Doggedly, Desperately. For Once You Have Committed Yourself To A Particular Work, Inspiration Changes Its Form And Becomes An Obsession, Like A Love-affair… Which Haunts You Night And Day! Once At Grips With A Work, We Must Master It Completely Before We Can Recover Our Idleness.