Language Is One Of The

The Older I Grow The More Sharply I Mistrust Words. So Few Of Them Have Any Meaning Left. It Is Impossible To Write One Sentence In Which Every Word Has The Bareness And Hardness Of Bones, The Reality Of The Skeleton.

There Is Only One World The World Pressing Against You This Minute.

She Did Not So Much Cook As Assassinate Food.

When You Talk Of Revolution ... You Never Talk Of The Day After.

Each Time That I Have Run Away - And From A Habit It Quickly Became An Illness - I Have Betrayed Someone. Myself, But Not Always Only Myself.