A ton of Proust isn’t worth an ounce of Ray Bradbury.

When the modern movement began, starting perhaps with the paintings of Manet and the poetry of Baudelaire and Rimbaud, what distinguished the modern movement was the enormous honesty that writers, painters and playwrights displayed about themselves. The bourgeois novel flinches from such notions.

Yet she felt an impostor, and already the mask had begun to bite into her face.

I felt the pressure of imagination against the doors of my mind was so great that they were going to burst.

I think the enemy of creativity in the world today is that so much thinking is done for you.

The entertainment medium of film is particularly tuned to the present imaginations of people at large. A lot of fiction is intensely nostalgic.

There is a British pop group called God. At a recent book signing the lead singer introduced himself and gave me a cassette. I have heard the voice of God.