Memory is a snare, pure and simple; it alters, it subtly rearranges the past to fit the present.

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Writers are the exorcists of their own demons.

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Don't ask me why, because I'm not even going to tell you dead. I'm never going to tell you that I love you even if she loves you.

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Revolution will free society of its afflictions, while science will free the individual of his.

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But what do I have? The things I'm told and the things I tell, that's all. And as far as I know, that never yet made anyone fly.

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Science is still only a candle glimmering in a great pitch-dark cavern.

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Almost seventy years later I remember clearly how the magic of translating the words in books into images enriched my life, breaking the barriers of time and space...

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Its easy to know what you want to say, but not to say it.

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I convinced her that her first loyalty isn't to other people, but to her own feelings.

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Although they say that only idiots are happy, I confess that I felt happy.

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