Certain things, they should stay the way they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those big glass cases and just leave them alone.

She was there, and she was the whole city, and that’s that.

Her joke of a name aside, her general unprettiness aside, she was, in terms of permanently memorable, immoderately perceptive, small-area faces, a stunning and final girl.

What really knocks me out is a book that, when you're all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it. That doesn't happen much, though.

And the old horror of being a professional writer, and the usual stench of words that goes with it, is begining to drive me out of my seat. (Buddy)

She was not one for emptying her face of expression.

If I were God, I certainly wouldn't want people to love me sentimentally. It's too unreliable.