...and yet could swear it was just then that I fell in love. It wasn't, of course, simply the onions -- it was the sudden sense of an individual woman, of a frankness that was so often later to make me happy and miserable.

Reality in our century is not something to be faced.

A petty reason perhaps why novelists more and more try to keep a distance from journalists is that novelists are trying to write the truth and journalists are trying to write fiction.

Politics, war, marriage, crime, adultery. Everything that exists in the world has something to do with money.

I wrote at the start that this was a record of hate, and walking there beside Henry towards the evening glass of beer, I found the one prayer that seemed to serve the winter mood: O God, You've done enough, You've robbed me of enough, I'm too tired and old to learn to love, leave me alone forever.

They are always saying God loves us. If thats love Id rather have a bit of kindness.

If I had to choose between life in the Soviet Union and life in the U. S. A. , I would certainly choose the Soviet Union.