Sooner or later... one has to take sides. If one is to remain human.

So much of a novelist's writing, as I have said, takes place in the unconscious: in those depths the last word is written before the first word appears on the paper. We remember details of our story, we do not invent them.

Heresy is only another word for freedom of thought.

There was always another side to a joke, the side of the victim.

Sometimes I see myself reflected too closely in other men for comfort, and then I have an enormous wish to believe in the saints, in heroic virtue.

The world was in her heart already, like the small spot of decay in a fruit.

I measured love by the extent of my jealousy.