In searching for a way out of my own troubles, I had found my way into the troubles of others, some long gone, and now I was trying to find my way back out, through their troubles, as if we human beings can ever learn from one another.

I begin with an image of some sort, just as if you saw something out of a window, and then went to the window to see what it was.

I'm confused, and brilliant books help me to be less so.

I don't read books for pleasure, but in desperation.

I'm clearer now in what I want to say, and I know better how to say just that.

Not that believing such things has anything to do with whether they are true. You see that, don't you?

Americans are genuinely and profoundly anti-intellectual. They are especially so in their pleasure-seeking, which is epically banal.