We don’t even ask happiness, just a little less pain.

we know God is dead, they've told us, but listening to you I wasn't sure.

And if there is anybody out there who is crazy enough to want to become a writer, I'd say go ahead, spit in the eye of the sun, hit those keys, it's the best madness going, the centuries need help, the species cry for light and gamble and laughter. Give it to them. There are enough words for all of us.

a good book can make an almost impossible existence, liveable ( from 'the luck of the word' )

there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I'm too clever, I only let him out at night sometimes when everybody's asleep. I say, I know that you're there, so don't be sad. then I put him back, but he's singing a little in there, I haven't quite let him die and we sleep together like that with our secret pact and it's nice enough to make a man weep, but I don't weep, do you?

Basically, that's why I wrote: to save my ass, to save my ass from the madhouse, from the streets, from myself.

Beware Those Who Are ALWAYS READING BOOKS