Homer's work hits again and again on the topos of the inexpressible. People will always do that.

When one starts writing a book, especially a novel, even the humblest person in the world hopes to become Homer.

After so many years even the fire of passion dies, and with it what was believed the light of the truth. Who of us is able to say now whether Hector or Achilles was right, Agamemnon or Priam, when they fought over the beauty of a woman who is now dust and ashes?

I dared, for the first and last time in my life, to express a theological conclusion: "But how can a necessary being exist totally polluted with the possible? What difference is there, then, between God and primogenial chaos? Isn't affirming God's absolute omnipotence and His absolute freedom with regard to His own choices tantamount to demonstrating that God does not exist?

I developed a passion for the Middle Ages the same way some people develop a passion for coconuts.

You die, but most of what you have accumulated will not be lost; you are leaving a message in a bottle.