The more you read, the more you will write. The better the stuff you read, the better the stuff you will write.

I worked so hard all my life, and all I want to do now is read.

It would seem that emotions are the curse, not death-emotions that appear to have developed upon a few freaks as a special curse from Malevolence. All right then. It is our emotions that are amiss. We are freaks, the world is fine, and let us all go have lobotomies to restore us to a natural state. We can leave the library then, go back to the creek lobotomized, and live on its banks as untroubled as any muskrat or reed. You first.

On plenty of days the writer can write three or four pages, and on plenty of other days he concludes he must throw them away.

These are our few live seasons. Let us live them as purely as we can, in the present.

Push it. examine all things intensely and relentlessly.

I alternate between thinking of the planet as home - dear and familiar stone hearth and garden - and as a hard land of exile in which we are all sojourners.