To think that realistic fiction is by definition superior to imaginative fiction is to think imitation is superior to invention.

My words itch at your ears till you understand them.

I think there is no way to write about being alone. To write is to tell something to somebody to communicate to others. . . . Solitude is noncommunication$$$ the absence of others$$$ the presence of a self sufficient to itself.

Death and life are the same thing-like the two sides of my hand$$$ the palm and the back. And still the palm and the back are not the same...They can be neither separated$$$ nor mixed.

In our loss and fear we craved the acts of religion$$$ the ceremonies that allow us to admit our helplessness$$$ our dependence on the great forces we do not understand.

While we read a novel$$$ we are insanebonkers. We believe in the existence of people who aren't there$$$ we hear their voices... Sanity returns (in most cases) when the book is closed.

I began to feel lighthearted. Don't ever do that; it tempts some dark and evil force abroad in the universe.

What is any of this to us? Time is endless and ours. Love and Death are only the games we play in it.

We're each of us alone$$$ to be sure. What can you do but hold your hand out in the dark?

Go home all you boys who fought with me and help build up the shattered fortunes of our old state.