To live with the work and the letters of James Joyce was an enormous privilege and a daunting education. Yes, I came to admire Joyce even more because he never ceased working, those words and the transubstantiation of words obsessed him. He was a broken man at the end of his life, unaware that Ulysses would be the number one book of the twentieth century and, for that matter, the twenty-first.

After that dark woman you search for someone who will fit into the irregular corners of your heart.

Movie people are possessed by demons, but a very low form of demons.

Writing is like carrying a fetus.

shadows of love, inebriations of love, foretastes of love, trickles of love, but never yet the one true love.

In a way Winter is the real Spring - the time when the inner things happen, the resurgence of nature.

You have to be lonely to be a writer