As for everything else, so for a mathematical theory: beauty can be perceived but not explained.

There are things which some people never attempt during their whole lives, but one of these is not poetry. Poetry attacks all human beings sooner or later, and, like the measles, is mild or violent according to the age of the sufferer.

When I played in the sandbox, the cat kept covering me up.

Why does someone, in the midst of your worst suffering, decide the time has come to drive home, disguised in the form of character analysis, all the contempt they have been harbouring for you for all these years?

Written By Philip Roth

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