Everything Human Is Alien To Me.

But There Were Too Many Points At Which The Other Self Could Invade The Self He Wanted To Preserve, And There Were Too Many Forms Of Invasion: Certain Words, Sounds, Lights, Actions His Hands Or Feet Performed, And If He Did Nothing At All, Heard And Saw Nothing, The Shouting Of Some Triumphant Inner Voice That Shocked Him And Cowed Him.

This Is What I Like, Sitting At A Table And Watching People Go By. It Does Something To Your Outlook On Life. The Anglo-saxons Make A Great Mistake Not Staring At People From A Sidewalk Table.

And No Book, And Possibly No Painting, When It Is Finished, Is Ever Exactly Like The First Dream Of It.

My Imagination Functions Much Better When I Don't Have To Speak To People.

He Liked The Fact That Venice Had No Cars. It Made The City Human. The Streets Were Like Veins, He Thought, And The People Were The Blood, Circulating Everywhere.