Then India, everyone has his own idea of India.

It is no use describing a house; the reader will fix the scene in some spot he knows himself.

I wrote The Green Eye of the Little Yellow God in five hours, but I had it all planned out. It isn't poetry and it does not pretend to be, but it does what it sets out to do.

There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu, There's a little marble cross below the town, There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew, And the yellow god forever gazes down.

Everyone is entitled to his own opinion, but not his own facts.

Everyone, left to his own devices, forms an idea about what goes on in language which is very far from the truth.