It is true that we are weak and sick and ugly and quarrelsome but if that is all we ever were, we would millenniums ago have disappeared from the face of the earth.

Time is the only critic without ambition.

I have owed you this letter for a very long time - but my fingers have avoided the pencil as though it were an old and poisoned tool.

Give a critic an inch, he'll write a play.

Forsaken, fucking in the cold, eating each other, lost runny noses, complaining all the time like so many people that we know

'Humanity is old, civilization is new: the mesh of cogs is by no means smooth and this is as it should be. Never should a man enter a building of glass or meta…

Both now and for always, I intend to hold fast to my belief in the hidden strength of the human spirit.