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Books are living things and their task lies in their vows of silence. You touch them as they quiver with a divine pleasure. You read them and they fall asleep to happy dreams for the next ten years. If you do them the favor of understanding them, of taking in their portions of grief and wisdom, then they settle down in contented residence in your heart.

If not for sports, I do not think my father would have ever talked to me.

You must appreciate beauty for it to endure [...]

Here is all I ask of a book—give me everything. Everything, and don't leave out a single word.

I take account of my life and find that I have lived a lot and learned very little.

My passion for eating springs from a childhood not deprived of food but deprived of good food.

A library could show you everything if you knew where to look.

Writing is the only way I have to explain my own life to myself.

Humanity is best described as inhumanity.

But no one walks out of his family without reprisals: a family is too disciplined an army to offer compassion to its deserters.

Fantasy is one of the soul's brighter porcelains.

I do not know why it is that I have always been happier thinking of somewhere I have been or wanted to go, than where I am at the time. I find it difficult to be happy in the present.