I understand there are some men who are only half here. Let's not say men. Let's say people. People who are more or less obscure at times.

It was only after two years' work that it occurred to me that I was a writer. I had no particular expectation that the novel would ever be published, because it was sort of a mess. It was only when I found myself writing things I didn't realise I knew that I said, 'I'm a writer now.' The novel had become an incentive to deeper thinking. That's really what writing is—an intense form of thought.

The force of a death should be enormous but how can you know what kind of man you've killed or who was the braver and stronger if you have to peer through layers of glass that deliver the image but obscure the meaning of the act? War has a conscience or it's ordinary murder.

Insanity's so personal. It's hard to know who shares our secrets.

I watch movies occasionally, and I watch documentaries. Virtually nothing else.

Some nights I need to be held. Tonight I'm a listener. So nice to lie in rumpled sheets and listen. Cover me with words.

We commit our crimes at night and reveal ourselves in the high noon of studio lights.