Looking back, I imagine I was always writing. Twaddle it was too. But better far write twaddle or anything, anything, than nothing at all.

The pleasure of all reading is doubled when one lives with another who shares the same books.

Were we positive, eager, real - alive? No, we were not. We were a nothingness shot with gleams of what might be.

Whenever I prepare for a journey I prepare as though for death. Should I never return, all is in order. This is what life has taught me.