I was relying on a kind of natural transition - the transitions made by someone who is slightly deranged.

We tell ourselves stories in order to live. We live entirely by the impression of a narrative line upon disparate images, the shifting phantasmagoria, which is our actual experience.

I was in love with New York. I do not mean 'love' in any colloquial way, I mean that I was in love with the city, the way you love the first person who ever touches you and never love anyone quite that way again.

I know why we try to keep the dead alive: we try to keep them alive in order to keep them with us. I also know that if we are to live ourselves there comes a point at which we must relinquish the dead, let them go, keep them dead.

When I am near the end of a book, I have to sleep in the same room with it.

In terms of work, I never felt that I've done it right. I always want to have done it differently, to have done it better, a different way.

The future always looks good in the golden land, because no one remembers the past.