What a bog and labyrinth the human essence is... We are all overbrained and overemotioned.

I grew up when people seemed actually to be hurting themselves for their art. Of course, some of it was phony.

When you're not involved, other people's unhappiness seems to be about the funniest damn thing on earth because you think you can solve it, that you are God, that you are above this, and that their unhappiness is just such useless toil and agony. If it's you, it ceases to be a comedy.

I don't really believe in a creative-writing major as an undergraduate. It's a bad idea, terrible. I've met creative-writing majors from other places and they don't know a goddamn thing. They're the worst students. They just think they're good because they could pass.

Most novels I come across have all the excitement of a long trip on a bus with a sensitive glee club. Yammer and chat.

I always intended to be light and open. I misjudged the American audience.

You need to see a bit of hell now and then. That, and great joy.