What the problem was was this colossal redundancy, the squandering of brilliant technique on cheap material.

she kept sliding down, in small half-willing surrenders, till she was a heap, with the book held tiringly above her face.

The worse they are the more they see beauty in each other.

There was the noise itself, which he thought of vaguely as the noise of classical music, sameish and rhetorical, full of feelings people surely never had

He wanted pure compliments, just as he wanted unconditional love.

The great wisdom for writers, perhaps for everybody, is to come to understand to be at one with their own tempo.

I like things to reverberate, to be suggestive.