I am led to the proposition that there is no fiction or nonfiction as we commonly understand the distinction: there is only narrative.

I thought I would lose, so I didn't prepare a speech.

My memories pale as I prevail upon them again and again. They become more and more ghostly. I fear nothing so much as losing them altogether and having only my blank endless mind to live in.

We are all good friends. Friendship is what endures. Shared ideals, respect for the whole character of a human being.

Writers are not just people who sit down and write. They hazard themselves. Every time you compose a book your composition of yourself is at stake.

There are moments when I cannot bear this unremitting consciousness. It knows only itself. Awake, I am in a continuum with my dreams. I feel my typewriters, my table, my chair to have that assurance of a solid world, where things take up space, where is not the endless emptiness of insubstantial thought that leads to nowhere but itself. My memories pale as I prevail upon them again and again. They become more and more ghostly. I fear nothing so much as losing them altogether and having only my blank endless mind to live in.

Someone dying asks if there is life after death. Yes, comes the answer, only not yours.