I'll burn, he thought, and be scattered in ashes all over the continental lands. I'll be put to use. Just a little bit, but ashes are ashes and they'll add to the land.
I remember once, when I lived in the Capital for a month and bought the paper fresh each day, I went wild with love, anger, irritation, frustration; all of the passions boiled in me. I was young. I ex...
I feel like I’ve been saving up a lot of things, and I don’t know what.
I don't know anything anymore
Heredity and environment are funny things. You can’t rid yourselves of all the odd ducks in just a few years. The home environment can undo a lot you try to do at school. That’s why we’ve lowered the...
He was part of us and when he died, all the actions stopped dead and there was no one to do them just the way he did.
He felt the tremble . . . Why? But she was bigger, stronger, more intelligent than himself, wasn’t she? Did she, too, feel that intangible menace, that groping out of darkness, that crouching malignan...
For the first thing a writer should be is - excited. He should be a thing of fevers and enthusiasms. Without such vigor, he might as well be out picking peaches or digging ditches; God knows it would...
Don’t ever be a Rocket Man. I stopped. I mean it, he said. Because when you’re out there you want to be here, and when you’re here you want to be out there. Don’t start that.
Do you ever read any of the books you burn?He laughed. That's against the law!Oh. Of course.
Dad read the stereo-newspapers inserted into the special hat you put on your head and which turned the microscopic page in front of the magnifying lens if you blinked three times in succession.
Cică sunt antisocială. Nu mă integrez. E foarte bizar. De fapt, sunt o fiinţă foarte sociabilă. Totul depinde de ceea ce înţelegi prin sociabil, nu? Pentru mine sociabil înseamnă să discut cu tine des...
But that's the wonderful thing about man; he never gets so discouraged or disgusted that he gives up doing it all over again, because he knows very well it is important and the doing.
Burn 'em to ashes, then burn the ashes.
As if hypnotized, he felt his gaze rise again to the old highway which swept by with winds that smelled a billion years ago. Great bursts of headlight arrived, then cut away in departures of red taill...
And when he died, I suddenly realized I wasn’t crying for him at all, but for the things he did. I cried because he would never do them again, he would never carve another piece of wood or help us rai...
And now, these books. This. He touched PHYSIOGNOMONIE. The secrets of the individual's character as found on his face. Were Jim and Will, then, featured all angelic, pure, half-innocent, peering up th...
After all, once a time was over, it was done. You were always in the present. //Pictures? No, they lie. You’re not the picture. My dear, you’re not the dates, or the ink, or the paper. You’re not thes...
A day without writing was a little death.
Hold summer in your hand, pour summer in a glass, a tiny glass of course, the smallest tingling sip, for children; change the season in your veins by raising glass to lip and tilting summer in.