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.

Planning to write is not writing. Outlining, researching, talking to people about what you're doing, none of that is writing. Writing is writing.

It was evident to him that the world composed and recomposed itself constantly in an endless process of dissatisfaction.

Anyone at any age is able to tell the story of his or her life with authority.

The music of the Stones pounds the air like the amplified pulse of my erection.

Movies are too literal.

Stories distribute the suffering so that it can be borne.