How could you love someone and not want them to be happy?

I...have always known that my destiny was, above all, a literary destiny — that bad things and some good things would happen to me, but that, in the long run, all of it would be converted into words. Particularly the bad things, since happiness does not need to be transformed: happiness is its own end.

One hardly knew at times whether one was reading the spiritual ecstasies of some mediaeval saint or the morbid confessions of a modern sinner. It was a poisonous book.

Bad as political fiction can be, there is always a politician prepared to make it look artistic by comparison.

Written By Christopher Hitchens

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