Capitalism has survived communism. Now, it eats away at itself.

I seldom know what I'm going to write when I sit down. There isn't much agony and sweat of the human spirit involved in doing it. The writing's easy, it's the living that is sometimes difficult.

I often carry things to read so that I will not have to look at the people.

I remembered my New Orleans days, living on two five-cent candy bars a day for weeks at a time in order to have leisure to write. But starvation, unfortunately, didn't improve art. It only hindered it. A man's soul was rooted in his stomach. A man could write much better after eating a porterhouse steak and drinking a pint of whiskey than he could ever write after eating a nickel candy bar. The myth of the starving artist was a hoax.

I can see where creation often stops while the body still lives and often does not care to. the death of life before life dies.

Beware of those who seek constant crowds; they are nothing alone.

This incompleteness is all we have.