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But even so, every now and then I would feel a violent stab of loneliness. The very water I drink, the very air I breathe, would feel like long, sharp needles. The pages of a book in my hands would take on the threatening metallic gleam of razor blades. I could hear the roots of loneliness creeping through me when the world was hushed at four o'clock in the morning.
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Knowing you have something good to read before bed is among the most pleasurable of sensations.
There comes a point in your life when you need to stop reading other people's books and write your own.
That is part of the beauty of all literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you're not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong.
Morning is wonderful. Its only drawback is that it comes at such an inconvenient time of day. ― Glen Cook, Sweet Silver Blues
All great and precious things are lonely.
I'm writing a book. I've got the page numbers done. ― Steven Wright
I have always been delighted at the prospect of a new day, a fresh try, one more start, with perhaps a bit of magic waiting somewhere behind the morning. — J. B. Priestley
Loneliness is equal to the radius of one's awareness.
I'm the world 'Guinness Book of Records' holder of 1,749 hugs in one hour. My arms fell off.
I want to do something splendid… Something heroic or wonderful that won’t be forgotten after I’m dead… I think I shall write books.
