Morality comes with the sad wisdom of age, when the sense of curiosity has withered.

One has no talent. I have no talent. It's just a question of working, of being willing to put in the time.

They think my mother's ashes are marijuana.

Cruel men cry easily at the cinema.

To comfort me is like the wrong memory at the wrong place or time: if one is lonely one prefers discomfort.

A story has no beginning or end: arbitrarily one chooses that moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead.

When I replied that I loved her too in that way, I was the liar, not she, for I never lose the consciousness of time: to me the present is never here: it is always last year or next week.