See the moon? It hates us.

The best way to live is by not knowing what will happen to you at the end of the day.

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.

Anathematization of the world is not an adequate response to the world.

I believe that because I had obtained a wife who was made up of wife-signs (beauty, charm, softness, perfume, cookery) I had found love.

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

Is death that which gives meaning to life?