The place smelled of fairgrounds, of lazy crowds, of nights when you stayed out because you couldn't go to bed, and it smelled like New York, of its calm and brutal indifference.

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

The lake and the mountains have become my landscape, my real world.

A novelist is a man who doesn't like his mother.

It just happened. As though a moment comes when it's both necessary and natural to make a decision that has long since been made.

I am at home everywhere, and nowhere. I am never a stranger and I never quite belong.

I have made love to ten thousand women.