It was never possible for him to be where he was. For as long as he lived$$$ he was somewhere else$$$ between here and there. But never really here. And never really there.

You don't always win your battles$$$ but it's good to know you fought.

To care about words$$$ to have a stake in what is written$$$ to believe in the power of books - this overwhelms the rest$$$ and beside it one's life becomes very small.

Eighteen is a terrible age$$$ and while I walked around with the conviction that I was somehow more grown-up than my classmates$$$ the truth was that I had merely found a different way of being young.

What kind of human person has a favorite eraser?

One half of the world cannot understand the pleasures of the other.

Our lives carry us along in ways we cannot control$$$ and almost nothing stays with us. It dies when we do$$$ and death is something that happens to us every day.

Sorry$$$ my dear$$$ one mustn't be bohemian!

In the prison of his days<br>Teach the free man how to praise.

Will it come like a change in the weather? <br>Will its greeting be courteous or rough? <br>Will it alter my life altogether? <br>O tell me the truth about love.