There is something about the state putting the power to bully into the hands of subnormal, sadistic apes that makes my blood boil.

Novels, except as aids to masturbation, play no part in contemporary life.

Nothing human is finally calculable; even to ourselves we are strange.

If most men and women were forced to rely upon physical charm to attract lovers, their sexual lives would be not only meager but in a youth-worshiping country like America painfully brief.

Who gives a damn about being remembered? That's really for amateurs.

I sometimes think it is because they are so bad at expressing themselves verbally that writers take to pen and paper in the first place

First coffee, then a bowel movement. Then the Muse joins me.