The Sky, At Sunset, Looked

In Some Lost Fold Of The Past, We Wanted To Be Lions And We're No More Than Castrated Cats

When People Read His Books They Have An Uncontrollable Desire To Hang The Author In The Town Square. I Can’t Think Of A Higher Honor For A Writer.

Being Alone Makes Us Stronger. That’s The Honest Truth. But It’s Cold Comfort, Since Even If I Wanted Company No One Will Come Near Me Anymore.

Literature Is The Product Of A Strange Rain Of Blood, Sweat, Semen, And Tears.

That's A Pretty Story,' Said Afanasievna As She Let Go Of Ansky's Genitals. 'a Pity I'm Too Old And Have Seen To Much To Believe It.' It Has Nothing To Do With Belief,' Said Ansky, 'it Has To Do With Understanding, And Then Changing.