Persons who have been homeless carry within them a certain philosophy of life which makes them apprehensive about ownership.

I look back into past history, the stored experiences or products of the imagination. I look no further forward than the evening.

I do like to live in other people's homes. I enjoy being a guest. I am an inexpensive guest. When one lives in another's home he can enter into the psychic kingdom of that person.

Lovers are not snails; they don't have to protrude from their shells and meet each other halfway. Meet me within your own self.

I write for a certain sphere of readers in the United States who on average watch seven and a half hours of multichannel television per day.

I suppress in my prose any language which calls attention to itself.

Going around under an umbrella interferes with one's looking up at the sky.