All men are loyal, but their objects of allegiance are at best approximate.
Those rituals of getting ready to write produce a kind of trance state.
Choosing is existence. To the extent that you don't choose, you don't exist.
The horror of our history has purged me of opinions.
He wishes he had never entered the funhouse. But he has. Then he wishes he were dead. But he's not. Therefore he will construct funhouses for others and be their secret operator -- though he would rather be among the lovers for whom funhouses are designed.
One of the things I miss about teaching is that students would tell me what I ought to read. One of my students, back in the 1960s, put me onto Borges, and I remember another mentioning Flann O'Brien's At Swim Two-Birds in the same way.