Writing is a concentrated form of thinking...a young writer sees that with words he can place himself more clearly into the world. Words on a page, that's all it takes to help him separate himself from the forces around him, streets and people and pressures and feelings. He learns to think about these things, to ride his own sentences into new perceptions.

Pain is just another form of information.

Freud is finished, Einstein's next.

Something is always happening, even on the quietest days and deep into the night, if you stand a while and look.

My attitudes aren't directed toward characters at all. I don't feel sympathetic toward some characters, unsympathetic toward others. I don't love some characters, feel contempt for others. They have attitudes; I don't.

Talent is more erotic when it's wasted.

the instant he knew he loved her, she slipped down his body and out of his arms