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

Talent is more erotic when it's wasted.

The genius of the primitive mind is that it can render human helplessness in noble and beautiful ways.

I think literature has lost it's power. Great novels continue to be written, but they are no longer changing the world.

In the American soul there is a lonely individual standing in a vast landscape.

Fear is unnatural. Lightning and thunder are unnatural. Pain, death, reality, these are all unnatural. We can't bear these things as they are. We know too much. So we resort to repression, compromise and disguise. This is how we survive the universe. This is the natural language of the species.

People hurried past, the others of the street, endless anonymous, twenty-one lives per second, race-walking in their faces and pigments, sprays of fleetest being.