I've never had any intentions about anything. That's why I am where I am today, which is neither here nor there, in a literal sense.

A small and sinister snow seems to be coming down relentlessly at present. The radio says it is eventually going to be sleet and rain, but I don't think so; I think it is just going to go on and on, coming down, until the whole world...etc. It has that look.

It's well we cannot hear the screams we make in other people's dreams.

I am a person before I am anything else. I never say I am a writer. I never say I am an artist...I am a person who does those things.

I really think I write about everyday life. I don't think I'm quite as odd as others say I am. Life is intrinsically, well, boring and dangerous at the same time. At any given moment the floor may open up. Of course, it almost never does; that's what makes it so boring.

Not everything in life can be interpreted metaphorically; that's because things fall out on the way.

Only art means anything.