Fly for me, Bird of the Sun.
I write my books in my head, and not in a specific study with a view. The view is from my inner eyes.
It’s a strange paradox that a man gifted with too many talents can fritter them all away without developing a single one to its full.
Sometimes it is best for men not to attempt to interfere with destiny. Our prayers can be answered in ways which we do not expect and do not welcome.
When I vacate this sack of old bones I won’t care what you do with it. Bury or burn it but don’t make much fuss.