Do you have any notion of how goddamned crazy you are?

You give up the world line by line. Stoically. And then one day you realize that your courage is farcical. It doesn't mean anything. You've become an accomplice in your own annihilation and there is nothing you can do about it. Everything you do closes a door somewhere ahead of you. And finally there is only one door left.

What he could bear in the waking world he could not by night and he sat awake for fear the dream would return.

If people knew the story of their lives, how many would then elect to live them?

You are either born a writer or you are not.

On this road there are no godspoke men. They are gone and I am left and they have taken with them the world.

My perfect day is sitting in a room with some blank paper. That's heaven. That's gold, and anything else is just a waste of time.