Give me an honest con man any day.

I know. I'm very hard to talk to. I realize that.

And I can't be running back and fourth forever between grief and high delight.

I mean they don't seem able to love us just the way we are. They don't seem able to love us unless they can keep changing us a little bit. They love their reasons for loving us almost as much as they love us, and most of the time more.

You're lucky if you get time to sneeze in this goddam phenomenal world.

There is a marvelous peace in not publishing ... I like to write. I love to write. But I write just for myself and my own pleasure.

Maybe there's a trapdoor under my chair, and I'll just disappear.