All writers are autobiographical to a degree and writing about the nature of their inner life. My inner life has always been a struggle between my conception of myself and the world versus reality.

I think men are still very loath to talk about their sexuality. Yet, I am so ashamed about my imperfection as a human being that I tell everything.

Can we come to the point where we can accept the impossible strivings that we have, the utter inability to ever fulfill our narcissistic megalomania, and then go on to live our lives and accept our disturbing thoughts? We need to accept our vulnerabilities and have love for our imperfections. If you can want what you have, I think you're on your way.

Imagination is always greater than reality, and the reality of a sex paradise is that they offer a supposed escape from the nightmare of repressive society.

All writers are autobiographical to a degree and writing about the nature of their inner life. My inner life has always been a struggle between my conception of myself and the world versus reality.

I haven't had a drink for 24 and a half years, so I don't live the kind of life anymore where I literally take mind altering substances, or do things in which I am able to forgo reality. I have the potential to be an enormously repressed individual in the guise of a freewheeling spirit.

If we're not conscious of sex, than we don't know we're having the pleasure. There's a compromise. By virtue of being human, there's self-reflection. Sigmund Freud should replace the Gideon Bible in motel rooms.