I hated being a novelist when I was 20 - I had nothing to write about.

They took to silence. They touched each other without comment and without progression. A hand on a hand, a clothed arm, resting on an arm. An ankle overlapping an ankle, as they sat on a beach, and not removed. One night they fell asleep, side by side... He slept curled against her back, a dark comma against her pale elegant phrase.

Where would we be without inhibitions? Theyre quite useful things when you look at some of the things humans do if they lose them.

No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed.

Creative Writing was not a form of psychotherapy, in ways both sublime and ridiculuous, it clearly was, precisely that.

I don't think it is an easy thing to write and expect to be commercial, even if you are from Venus and a hermaphrodite.

The individual appears for an instant, joins the community of thought, modifies it and dies; but the species, that dies not, reaps the fruit of his ephemeral existence.