Men with secrets tend to be drawn to each other, not because they want to share what they know but because they need the company of the like-minded, the fellow afflicted.

When birds look into houses, what impossible worlds they see.

Fame and secrecy are the high and low ends of the same fascination.

The novel is the dream release, the suspension of reality that history needs to escape its own brutal confinements.

Human existence had to have a deeper source than our own dank fluids. Dank or rank. There had to be a force behind it, a principal being who was and is and ever shall be.

People say great art is immortal. I say there's something mortal in it. It carries a glimpse of death.

There is a world inside the world.