There was I, devouring books and yet allowing a man who had never read a book to walk me home for a bit of harmless fumbling on the front steps.

Darkness is drawn to light, but light does not know it; light must absorb the darkness and therefore meet its own extinguishment.

...people liking you or not liking you is an accident and is to do with them and not you. That goes for love too, only more so.

My hand does the work and I dont have to think; in fact, were I to think, it would stop the flow. Its like a dam in the brain that bursts.

What matters is the imaginative truth.

I'm an Irish Catholic and I have a long iceberg of guilt.

Writers really live in the mind and in hotels of the soul.