I don't even correct people when they mispronounce my name now.

It's often been said that I'm an extremely depressing, cynical writer. I've never known what to make of that.

It's not about having things figured out, or about communicating with other people, trying to make them understand what you understand. It's about a chicken dinner at a drive-in. A soft pillow. Things that don't need explaining.

Clichés so often befall vain people.

Also minimalism is a term that all of us who share so little in common and who are lumped together as minimalists are not terribly happy with.

Because I don’t work with an outline, writing a story is like crossing a stream, now I’m on this rock, now I’m on this rock, now I’m on this rock.

When I was teaching at Harvard in the 1970s, I went to Project Incorporated in Cambridge and took photography classes. I didn't even know how to aim the camera in those days.