The prophets of doom, in my experience, are generally ignored and usually right.
Fiction stretches our sensibilities and our understanding, as mere information never can.
What makes women happy? Nothing, for more than ten minutes at a time, so stop worrying.
Poetry, I thought then, and still do, is a matter of space on the page interrupted by a few well-chosen words, to give them importance. Prose is a less grand affair which has to stretch to the edges of the page to be convincing.
There was no such thing as defeat if you didn't accept it.
How has anyone ever understood anyone, except through love, which is wordless?