Fame requires every kind of excess. I mean true fame, a devouring neon, not the sombre renown of waning statesmen or chinless kings.
I felt Joyce was an influence on my fiction, but in a very general way, as a kind of inspiration and a model for the beauty of language.
Brilliant people never think of the lives they smash, being brilliant.
Technology and violence are interdependent.
These are the days after. Everything now is measured by after.
The modern meaning of life's end-when does it end? How does it end? How should it end? What is the value of life? How do we measure it?