The writer is one who, emnbarking upon a task, does not know what to do.

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

The death of God left the angels in a strange position.

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

Capitalism arose and took off its pajamas. Another day, another dollar. Each man is valued at what he will bring in the marketplace. Meaning has been drained from work and assigned instead to remuneration.

Goals incapable of attainment have driven many a man to despair, but despair is easier to get to than that -- one need merely look out of the window, for example.

Yes, success is everything. Failure is more common. Most achieve a sort of middling thing, but fortunately one's situation is always blurred, you never know absolutely quite where you are.