I have a grim outlook on the world, and in particular on humanity. Spent years denying it, but I am very misanthropic. And I live alone on a mountain for a reason.

Still, it's an interesting technique-leaving one person behind in order to find her or him somewhere else. And in someone else.

I wanted nothing less than to be a fiction writer when I was a kid. If you had told me I would be an artist or novelist when I grew up, I would have laughed in your face

I, like most of my friends, couldn't believe I bought a mountain called Misery Mountain, because it was so appropriate.

It didn’t make any more sense to me then than it does now, how life can pile troubles up on a man what don’t deserve them, while letting some of the biggest jackasses and scoundrels alive waltz their way through long, untroubled existences.

People would rather be deceived than have the truth cause them anxiety

Absolutely nothing brings out the killer instinct in the upper crust of New York Society like a charity function.