Trotsky rises to give me his hand, then sits at his desk, gently allowing his regard to light on my person.

Madame....gloatingly savored her words as earlier she had savored her pig's trotter.

Writing is not a profession but a vocation of unhappiness. I don't think an artist can ever be happy.

We live in a time when writers do not always have barriers around them

We are all potentially characters in a novel--with the difference that characters in a novel really get to live their lives to the full.

I write fast, because I have not the brains to write slow.

The fact that we are I don't know how many millions of people, yet communication, complete communication, is completely impossible between two of those people, is to me one of the biggest tragic themes in the world