My mother studied English and drama at the University of Pennsylvania, where my father studied architecture. She was a great influence in all sorts of ways, a wicked wit.

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.

There was no particular point at which I stopped being promising.

I don’t think you can talk about progress in art—movement, but not progress.

I think writers like old cities and are made very nervous by new cities.

And I sat there getting drunker and drunker and more in love and more in love.

Is death that which gives meaning to life? And I said, no, life is that which gives meaning to life.