That what appears to be egoism so often isn't.

The assumption that you everyone else is like you. That you are the world. The disease of consumer capitalism. The complacent solipsism.

The depressed person was in terrible and unceasing pain, and the impossibility of sharing or articulating this pain was itself a component of the pain and a contributing factor in its essential horror.

I often think I can see it in myself and in other young writers, this desperate desire to please coupled with a kind of hostility to the reader.

Most really pretty girls have pretty ugly feet, and so does Mindy Metalman, Lenore notices, all of a sudden.

If Realism called it like it saw it, Metafiction simply called it as it saw itself seeing itself see it.

I knew my limitations and the limitations of the courts I played on, and adjusted thusly. I was at my best in bad conditions.