I knew I was in England by the smell.

[Henry Miller] was such a scribomaniac that even when he lived in the same house as Lawrence Durrell they often exchanged letters. For most of his life, Henry wrote literally dozens of letters a day to people he could have easily engaged in conversation - and did. The writing process, in short, was essential. As it is to all real writers, writing was life and breath to him. He put out words as a tree puts out leaves.

Once I worshipped Keats for dying young. Now I think it's braver to die old.

Really true intimacy is rare and it depends on other things besides sex.

Memory is the most transient of all possessions. And when it goes, it leaves as few traces as stars that have disappeared.

Women are their own worst enemies. And guilt is the main weapon of self-torture . . . Show me a woman who doesn't feel guilty and I'll show you a man.

The Lives of Great Men are more oft' at variance with their profess'd Phillosophies than consistent with 'em.