When you lead a life of scholarship you can't be bothered with the humorous realities, you know, tits, that kind of thing.

This particular nurse said, Cancer cells are those which have forgotten how to die. I was so struck by this statement.

The Room I wrote in 1957, and I was really gratified to find that it stood up. I didn't have to change a word.

The speech we hear is an indication of that which we don't hear. It is a necessary avoidance, a violent, sly, and anguished or mocking smoke screen which keeps the other in its true place. When true silence falls we are left with echo but are nearer nakedness. One way of looking at speech is to say that it is a constant stratagem to cover nakedness.

I don't give a damn what other people think. It's entirely their own business. I'm not writing for other people.

The past is what you remember, imagine you remember, convince yourself you remember, or pretend you remember.

A writer's life is a highly vulnerable, almost naked activity. We don't have to weep about that. The writer makes his choice and is stuck with it. But it is true to say that you are open to all the winds, some of them icy indeed. You are out on your own, out on a limb. You find no shelter, no protection - unless you lie - in which case of course you have constructed your own protection and, it could be argued, become a politician.