I never went to university. I'm self-educated. I didn't go because I was too impatient, too arrogant.

He knows that after him everything will continue on much as before, except that there will be a minuscule absence, a barely detective gap in the so-called grand scheme, one unit fewer now. Or not even that, not even an empty space where he once was, for all will rush immediately to fill that vacuum. Pft. Gone. Recollections of him will remain in the minds of others for a while, but presently those others too will die and his few relics with them. And then all will be dark.

Art is amoral, whether we accept this or not; it does not take sides. The finest fictions are cold at heart.

How flat all sounds are at the seaside, flat and yet emphatic, like the sound of gunshots heard at a distance.

Given the world that he created, it would be an impiety against God to believe in him.

We carry the dead with us only until we die too, and then it is we who are borne along for a little while, and then our bearers in their turn drop, and so on into the unimaginable generations.

All a work of art can do is present the surface. I can't know the insides of people. I know very little about the inside of myself.