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To be able to look life in the face: that's worth living in a garret for, isn't it?

Every life has its years in which one progresses as on a tedious and dusty street of poplars, without caring to know where he is.

I was at that time like a fledgling swallow living high up in a niche in the eaves, who from time to time peeps out over the top of its nest with its little bright eyes.

Character develops itself in the stream of life.

But the real interesting stuff is in the cellar and the attic.

In the end, we are all determined by the place and the time in which we were born.

I tell people, 'I was born in a little house at the dead end of a dirt road that had no name and no number, and you can go anywhere from nowhere.'

Life is a zoo in a jungle.