It was as though peace were a lethargy, a miasma that filled mankind with a sense of ennui, and it was only war that could stimulate man to the full exhilaration of life.
It starts with this: put your desk in the corner, and every time you sit down there to write, remind yourself why it isn’t in the middle of the room. Life isn’t a support-system for art. It’s the other way around.
It seems as though I have learned all I know of life in books.
It reads better than it lives.
It matters little that you suffer, so long as you feel alive with a sense of the close bond that connects all living things, so long as love does not die!
It makes living a funny joke with nobody around to laugh.
It is true we love life; not because we are used to life, but because we are used to loving.
It is the basic condition of life, to be required to violate your own identity.
It is part of human nature always to judge others very severely and, when the wind turns against us, always to find an excuse for our own misdeeds, or to blame someone else for our mistakes.
It is only when caught in the swift, sudden turn of death, that mortals realize the silent, subtle, everpresent perils of life.
It is nothing to die, but it is frightful not to live.
It is not life that’s complicated, it’s the struggle to guide and control life.
