I thought what I'd do was I'd pretend I was one of those deaf-mutes.

That's something that annoys the hell out of me-I mean if somebody says the coffee's all ready and it isn't.

If Death stepped miraculously through the glass and came in after you, in all probability you just got up and went along with him, ferociously but quietly.

We are, all four of us, blood relatives, and we speak a kind of esoteric, family language, a sort of semantic geometry in which the shortest distance between any two points is a fullish circle.

All mothers are slightly insane.

I am always saying "Glad to've met you" to somebody I'm not at all glad I met. If you want to stay alive, you have to say that stuff, though.

I’ll read my books and I’ll drink coffee and I’ll listen to music, and I’ll bolt the door.