The old church, with its sharp steeple, rotted slowly, decently, prosp — Thomas Wolfe

"The surest cure for vanity is loneliness."

"Most of the time we think were sick, its all in the mind."

"A stone, a leaf, an unfound door; of a stone, a leaf, a door. And of all the forgotten faces. Naked and alone we came into exile. In her dark womb we did not know our mothers face; from the prison of her flesh we come into the unspeakable and incommunicable prison of this earth. Which of us has known his brother? Which of us has looked into his fathers heart? Which of us has not remained forever prison-pent? Which of us is not forever a stranger and alone? O waste of loss, in the hot mazes, lost, among bright stars on this most weary unbright cinder, lost! Remembering speechlessly we seek the great forgotten language, the lost lane-end into heaven, a stone, a leaf, an unfound door. Where? When? O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back again."

"It was like a dream of hell, when a man finds his own name staring at him from the Devils ledger; like a dream of death, when he who comes as mourner finds himself in the coffin, or as witness to a hanging, the condemned upon the scaffold."

"The exquisite smell of the south, clean but funky, like a big woman."

"He who lets himself be whored by fashion will be whored by time."