"Writers who are also artist's only think of themselves as truly living when they are engaged in their sweet labour."

"The real jewel of my disease-ridden woodlot is the prothonotary warbler. … The flash of his gold-and-blue plumage amid the dank decay of the June woods is in itself proof that dead trees are transmute…"

"A recollection. The time: After the war. The place: Paris. A young man struggles to readjust to life. His mother, his father, his small sister are gone. He is alone. On the verge of despair. And yet h…"

"If defeating me was a possibility; I would have died long ago! ..... Send them ..... Your Lions I Declaw ... Your Serpents I Defang ... Your Greats I Belittle."

"Then - being in two minds - in my father's courtyard, I counted the buttons of my coat: soldier or painter, soldier, painter, soldier, painter.. ..the last button told me: painter. So it was decided b…"