It Is Enough That One Man Hate

All-powerful God, Who Am I But The Fear That I Inspire In Others?

He Walked On In Silence, The Solitary Sound Of His Footsteps Echoing In His Head, As In A Deserted Street, At Dawn. His Solitude Was So Complete, Beneath A Lovely Sky As Mellow And Serene As A Good Conscience, Amid That Busy Throng, That He Was Amazed At His Own Existence; He Must Be Somebody Else's Nightmare, And Whoever It Was Would Certainly Awaken Soon.

I Am A Man, Jupiter, And Each Man Must Invent His Own Path.

If Literature Isn't Everything, It's Not Worth A Single Hour Of Someone's Trouble.

I'd Come To Realize That All Our Troubles Spring From Our Failure To Use Plain, Clear-cut Language.