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

He is mad about being small when you were big, but no, that's not it, he is mad about being helpless when you were powerful, but no, not that either, he is mad about being contingent when you were necessary, not quite it... he is insane because when he loved you, you didn't notice.

Endings are elusive, middles are nowhere to be found, but worst of all is to begin, to begin, to begin.

Is death that which gives meaning to life?

Write about what you're afraid of.

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

The important thing is the educational experience itself — how to survive it.