Though they may not always be handsome men doomed to evil posses the manly virtues.

They spent their time doing nothing... they let intimacy fuse them.

The despondency that follows makes me feel somewhat like a shipwrecked man who spies a sail, sees himself saved, and suddenly remembers that the lens of his spyglass has a flaw, a blurred spot -- the sail he has seen.

...the characters in my books all resemble each other. They live, with minor variations, the same moments, the same perils, and when I speak of them, my language, which is inspired by them, repeats the same poems in the same tone.

on him, under him, with his mouth pressed to hers, he sang to her uncouth songs that moved through her body.

What we need is hatred. From it our ideas are born.

It's the hour when night breaks away from the day, my dove, let me go.