We're not in a fairytale story. This is not a movie. Scriptwriters don't write our fates. We do.

There was an ocean above us, held in by a thin sac that might rupture and let down a flood at any second.

Art is inextricably tied to man's survival - not to his physical survival, but to that on which his physical survival depends: to the preservation and survival of his consciousness.

There is one kind of laugh that I always did recommend; it looks out of the eye first with a merry twinkle, then it creeps down on its hands and knees and plays around the mouth like a pretty moth around the blaze of a candle, then it steals over into the dimples of the cheeks and rides around in those whirlpools for a while, then it lights up the whole face like the mellow bloom on a damask rose, then it swims up on the air, with a peal as clear and as happy as a dinner-bell, then it goes back again on gold tiptoes like an angel out for an airing, and it lies down on its little bed of violets in the heart where it came from.

We do what we enjoy, even if it is act of evil.

A man, who does not commit an evil act either, has no opportunity or the stomach.