In fact I've reached the stage where I look at people and say - he or she, they are whole at all because they've chosen to block off at this stage or that. People stay sane by blocking off, by limiting themselves.

There are no laws for the novel. There never have been, nor can there ever be.

My father was always so mingled with rage at his life.

The critics slap labels on you and then expect you to talk inside their terms.

I am interested only in stretching myself, on living as fully as I can.

I have to conclude that fiction is better at 'the truth' than a factual record.

If she had been left alone she would have gone on, in her own way, enjoying herself thoroughly, until people found one day that she had turned imperceptibly into one of those women who have become old without ever having been middle aged: a little withered, a little acid, hard as nails, sentimentally kindhearted, and addicted to religion or small dogs.