In General, With Things Unpleasant, The Rule

The Formula For Prison Is A Lack Of Space Counterbalanced By A Surplus Of Time. This Is What Really Bothers You, That You Can't Win. Prison Is Lack Of Alternatives, And The Telescopic Predictability Of The Future Is What Drives You Crazy.

The Eye Identifies Itself Not With The Body It Belongs To But With The Object Of Its Attention.

Man Is What He Reads.

Out Of Dostoevsky: Kafka. Out Of Tolstoy: Margaret Mitchell. (in Conversation, Explaining His Dislike For Tolstoy)

The Delirium And Horror Of The East. The Dusty Catastrophe Of Asia. Green Only On The Banner Of The Prophet. Nothing Grows Here Except Mustaches.