We Find Ourselves Only By Looking To

Writing Is Such A Strange, Utterly Mysterious Process. First, There Was Nothing; Then, Suddenly, There Was Something. I Don't Know Where Thoughts Are Born. Where The Hell Does It Come From? I Don't Know. I Really Don't Know.

It Often Happens That Things Are Other Than What They Seem, And You Can Get Yourself Into Trouble By Jumping To Conclusions.

If The World Weren't Such A Beautiful Place, We Might All Turn Into Cynics

No One Can Cross The Boundary Into Another -- For The Simple Reason That No One Can Gain Access To Himself

You Find The Book In The Process Of Doing It. That's The Adventure Of The Job.