Any genuine work of art generates new work.

The aim of literature ... is the creation of a strange object covered with fur which breaks your heart.

Is death that which gives meaning to life?

And I sat there getting drunker and drunker and more in love and more in love...And you can never touch a girl in the same way more than once, twice, or another number of times however much you may wish to hold, wrap, or otherwise fix her hand, or look, or some other quality, or incident, known to you previously.

Art is not difficult because it wishes to be difficult, but because it wishes to be art.

There's not a strong autobiographical strain in my fiction. A few bits of fact here and there.

Now, here is the point about the self: it is insatiable. It is always, always hankering. It is what you might call rapacious to a fault. The great flaming mouth to the thing is never in this world going to be stuff full.