The world doesn't make any heroes anymore.

One gets started, and then, suddenly, one cannot remember what toothpaste they use . . . the moment comes when a character does or says something you hadn't thought about. At that moment he's alive and you leave it to him.

We never get accustomed to being less important to other people than they are to us.

So it always is: when you escape to a desert the silence shouts in your ear.

Pain is easy to write. In pain we're all happily individual. But what can one write about happiness?

Failure too is a form of death.

Oh, I’m not a Berkeleian. I believe my back’s against this wall. I believe there’s a sten gun over there.