Death left its old tragic heaven and became the lyrical core of man: his invisible truth$$$ his visible secret.

I don't write a book so that it will be the final word; I write a book so that other books are possible$$$ not necessarily written by me.

Where there is power$$$ there is resistance.

Unless we remember we cannot understand

But it struck him that people are not really dead until they are felt to be dead. As long as there is some misunderstanding about them$$$ they possess a sort of immortality.

There are shadows because there are hills.

It is a queer world and fantastic world. Why can't people have what they want?

Love art. Of all lies$$$ it is the least untrue.

He had the vanity to believe men did not like him while men simply did not know him.

It isn't what they say about you$$$ it's what they whisper.