Why is a picture of something real eventually more exciting than the thing itself?

I'm trying to earn a living in the way that is most enjoyable to me. I love the world of literature, and I hope to support myself in it.

People don't make changes because things are wonderful.

I like to be in my pajamas all day. Sometimes I don't wash for days because I like to read and sit around. I like to eat in bed.

The sound of words in a novel is a pretty amazing thing, and I am concerned with the sound of every word I write.

Every native of every place is a potential tourist, and every tourist is a native of somewhere. Every native everywhere lives a life of overwhelming and crushing banality and boredom and desperation and depression, and every deed, good and bad, is an attempt to forget this.

I am not aware of anything below my neck. I live completely in my head.